


Much More Than Life

by iamsheena



Category: August Rush (2007)
Genre: Family, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 201,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsheena/pseuds/iamsheena
Summary: Louis Connelly has finally found Lyla Novacek after years of being apart. They reunite with their son, August, and are able to begin living the lives they had all hoped for. Follow their lives, along with the lives of those important to them, from their reunion in Central Park until years after. Some suggestive content and mild language in later chapters.





	1. May 2007

**Much More Than Life**

  _"My eyes are open,_

_My arms are raised for your embrace,_

_My hands are here to mend what is broken -_

_To feel again the warmth of your face._

_I believe there is more to life_

_Oh, I love you much more than life."_

 

\- "Someday" by John Legend 

* * *

 

Louis Connelly gazed lovingly at the woman who had so altered his person all those years ago. Lyla Novacek was aged, as was he, ever so slightly, but the smile that spread across her face threw him back to the first day they had met. However, her eyes only lingered on him for a moment before turning to the stage. He looked too, wondering what had so captivated her attention.

On the stage above them, a boy had been inexplicably leading the orchestra; Louis was thankful for the music and the boy for it was the concert that brought he and Lyla together again. Even so, something was off. The tiny conductor was standing as if he forgot what he was there to do, and Louis could see the slight tremors in his body before he slowly turned and looked down at the two of them.

Louis knew the boy - the one who had seemed so sad before and after they had played together, yet so free and joyful in the moment. He had felt drawn to the boy - he called himself August - but couldn't understand why. Now, looking up at the smiling boy – the dimples in his cheeks and the soulful blue eyes of Louis' own mother, the ones he had inherited – Louis truly saw him. This was Lyla's son. This was _his_ son.

"That's our son," Lyla whispered as the final notes sounded, not taking her eyes from August's.

"Yes," Louis said assuredly.

Applause sounded from the surrounding audience, breaking the haze that had enveloped Louis and Lyla. The boy - Louis' son - barely bowed before running off stage. Lyla led Louis eagerly backstage where they would hopefully both be introduced to their child, a symbol of their never-forgotten love.

Richard Jeffries felt breathless. This boy that he had known for less than a year evolved from not knowing what whistling was to writing and conducting a piece for a symphony. And the piece might have been the most beautiful piece of music he had ever heard. Evan Taylor was running in his direction, looking ecstatic - the happiest he had ever seen him, in fact. He could only guess at the elation he was feeling, being in such a situation to perform what most students at Juilliard could only dream.

 "Evan!" Jeffries shouted as the boy neared him.

 Evan stopped in his tracks. "Mr. Jeffries," he replied, surprised.

 "Evan, I had no idea that-"

"Mr. Jeffries, it's my parents!" Evan interrupted, evidently too giddy to listen to anything Mr. Jeffries had to say.

"Your parents?"

"The music brought them! I played for them and they came. I saw them!"

"You saw them? Where?"

"In the audience! I have to go to them! I have to see them!" And with that, Evan ran past Jeffries and down the backstage stairs.

"Evan!" Mr. Jeffries called as he followed the boy out. Who exactly had he seen? And how could he possibly know they were his parents?

Following the excited boy down the stairs and behind the stage, Mr. Jeffries saw Evan frozen in place while Lyla Novacek stood opposite him, smiling. Tears were in her eyes and her hand covered her mouth in awe. A man stood behind her, pride clear as day on his face. A fool could see the resemblance when the three stood together. Richard Jeffries wasn't sure how Evan knew that these two strangers were his parents, but he was willing to believe what Evan had said - maybe it was the music that brought this family together.

Lyla knelt on the ground and whispered, "Evan."

Slowly, he walked towards her, afraid that she might disappear if he ran. His legs felt like rubber and his heart was beating so hard that he thought it would break out of his chest. This was his mother, the woman who he could feel looking at the same moon he did on his loneliest nights. He was sure of it. She was beautiful. An angel.

Lyla opened her arms, inviting him in. He took two more shaky steps forward before losing all control and falling into her arms, sobbing. She held him tight, never wanting to let him go. They held each other close for a long while, each remembering moments of despair and sadness and loneliness, and the comfort they both found in the thought of the other.

Louis regarded the scene with tears in his own eyes. He had so many questions, but in that moment, all he saw and needed was the pure love that was evident between mother and child.

"I played for you," their son whispered in his mother's ear. "Did you follow the music to find me?"

Lyla nodded silently, tears continuing to stream down her face. "I heard the music. I knew it was you. I've missed you for so long." She leaned back and held him at arm's length, trying to get a good look at his face despite the tears blurring her vision. She pushed his now disheveled hair back off of his forehead and smiled. After a time, Lyla turned and took Louis' hand, bringing him down to kneel beside her. "This is your father," she said softly, beaming.

Louis nodded. "August," he whispered.

August smiled, "this was my concert."

Louis grinned, "I gathered that. C'mere." He pulled August into a hug and ruffled his hair before releasing him.

Lyla smiled. "August?"

"He has apparently been using the name August Rush for almost as long as he's been gone from the boy's home. That's why it was so much harder to find him," Mr. Jeffries said.

"August! Dean MacNeil wants you ba-" Hope called before stopping short. "Uh... sorry. August, you have to come back on stage."

Lyla stood, still smiling. "Go. We'll be here when you get back. I promise." She leaned down and kissed his forehead and Louis patted his shoulder. August ran after Hope. With a quick glance back to his parents, he then followed her up the steps to the stage.

"Lyla," Louis whispered, lacing his fingers into hers.

She turned, looking into his soulful blue eyes, and melted. He looked the same as he had a decade ago. Boyish yet rugged; playful yet serious.

"What's going on?" Louis whispered, chuckling softly.

Lyla let out a laugh. She introduced him to Mr. Jeffries and told him the story of what had happened from the last day she saw Louis, right up to the present moment. Louis pulled her into a passionate hug. "I'm sorry you had to do that on your own. I should've been there."

"You tried," she sighed deeply, taking in his comforting scent – leather, sweat, cologne. "I know you tried. I'm sorry you didn't know."

Louis shook his head. "What d'you say we stay in the present and look to the future? Forget the past. At least for now."

Lyla nodded, "I'd like that very much."


	2. May 2007 (2)

"So... this is it," Lyla said, turning on the hallway lights of her apartment.

 "Wow," Louis responded, placing Lyla's cello against the wall by the door. The living room was a good size with large windows that would let in a lot of light during the day and looked out over the city streets. Central Park, where they had reunited by chance, could just be seen beyond the taller buildings that blocked most of it from view. Everything looked very clean – not just organized, but light and deliberately chosen with upper class taste, which she certainly was. The sofa was white, complemented by steel blue throw pillows and a soft grey blanket draped over it. There was an armchair perpendicular to it that was a similar blue etched with white swirls similar to a vine. On the floor, underneath the chestnut-brown coffee table that looked like an antique, an area rug pulled it all together with its hints of blue hues on white. Everything in the space seemed to have been chosen and deliberated upon before being added to the space. He thought of his place in San Francisco with its sparse furnishings and simplicity; he had never lived in a place that had been actually consciously decorated. "This is really nice."

 “Thank you,” Lyla said, smiling, while silence filled the space between them. She shuffled awkwardly before saying, "I- I'm just going to change. Make yourself... at home." She headed down another hall to her bedroom.

 Louis took off his jacket and draped it over the sofa. He took in the décor and tried to learn as much as he could about the girl he loved beyond all reason. She liked art; the only images and pictures around the apartment were painted pieces. There weren't any photographs. In one corner, Lyla had a music stand and stool. There was a large bookcase against one wall filled primarily with sheet music. He liked that music was such a big part of her life as it was his. And their son's.

 The kitchen was spotless, as was the rest of the apartment. She liked to keep things clean. He briefly wondered if she had a cleaning service. Down at the end of the hall that Lyla has disappeared into was the bathroom. Halfway down the hall on the left, was a closed door – probably Lyla's room. At the end on the right was a spare bedroom. Inside the room was a single bed with blue covers. The walls were decorated with more paintings that were playful or featured something musical. On the dresser was a framed picture of August – or Evan – in a red sweater. He knew the bed was there as a wish. A hope that Lyla would find her son.

 Louis sat on the bed in the dark and took the room in. He wondered how their family would work. If it could. What had Lyla been through all those years? Thinking her son was dead. Maybe thinking that Louis hadn’t really cared for her. And what about their son? Living for so long without a home or parents or real love. Those kinds of things affected a person deep to their core. What would the future bring for August?

 He heard Lyla's door open and, after a minute, heard her call his name.

 "I'm here," he called back.

 She turned slowly around the corner, smiling her beautiful smile. She had changed into pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Louis marvelled at how good she looked in anything.

 "I wanted to create a place for him. I knew I'd find him." She sat down next to him. "You know, even when I thought he died as a baby, I still felt him. I thought I could hear him sometimes." Lyla let out a laugh, "this all feels like a dream. Like I'm going to wake up and all the joy I feel will disappear. Like before."

 Louis grasped her hand. "You'll never have to feel that way again. He's here now. Once we've jumped through all their hoops - signed all the papers - he can be here. He'll sleep in this bed in no time." He laid himself down with one arm under his head. "And I'll be here too. If you'll have me."

 Lyla laid herself down next to Louis, "of course I'll have you." She took his free hand in one of hers and held it softly. "For nearly twelve years, I've only had my mind on two things: my son... and his father."

 Louis didn't hide his surprise. She had talked so much of finding her long lost son, that he never really considered the idea that she could have thought about him as much as he thought about her during their absence from one another.

 Lyla noticed and smiled the smile that drove him crazy. "Lizzy tried setting me up with her fiancé's friends – I guess he's her husband now – but they always had the same flaw. They weren't you."

 He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

 "I was only nineteen and you ruined me for other men," Lyla said playfully.

 Louis laughed, "same goes for you."

 "Are we crazy?"

 "Yes."

 "Normal people don't fall in love after one night, let alone at first sight."

 Louis propped himself up on his side, "if more people met their soul mates, there would be a lot more of that happening." He smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

 She eagerly met him part way and wrapped her arms around his neck. In an instant, she was thrown back to that night on the roof top under the moon where they first met, first kissed, and first made love.

 Lyla pulled back and looked intently into Louis' blue eyes. His eyes seemed able to find every part of her soul just by looking into hers; at the same time, she felt she could see into his soul and understand exactly who he was.

 Wordlessly, Lyla rose from the bed and lead Louis down the hall into her own bedroom.

 Louis watched her intently, interested in every movement that she made. She was not of this world. Lyla was all grace, beauty, and love. He couldn't get enough of simply being in her presence. He used to think that if he were to ever find Lyla again that the spell she had cast upon him all those years ago, bewitching him body and soul, would be broken. He thought that his fixation over her might have been based solely on his youth and the romance of that night. But now he found that wasn't the case. Lyla was enchanting on all levels and he knew that he would love her forever and always, no matter the circumstance.

 He let her lead him to her bed. Louis could see that she was nervous, almost shy. She had changed in many ways but stayed the same in others. She sat on the side of her bed, watching him as he had watched her. And as he did their first night, he leaned in and kissed her softly, his touch full of love and desire.

 Lyla awoke the next morning ecstatic. Before she could even comprehend why, she was happy. Quickly, the events from the night before came flooding back. Louis was holding her in his arms, his breath even and deep. She smiled and laced her fingers with his. Lyla thought of her son and wondered how much like his father he was. He had his eyes, that was certain. She wondered what else he had inherited. Was he a dreamer? Kind? Would he grow to be in a band? Or did he prefer classical like her? She wondered how much could be passed down and what else she could teach him. She wondered a million other things too, each right after the other.

 Louis sensed that she was awake, her voice silent but her mind shouting. He sighed happily and kissed the back of her head. "Good morning," he whispered.

 "It is," she responded. Turning around to face him, Lyla could feel his heart beating as fast as hers. There was comfort in knowing someone felt the same about you as you did about them without needing words to confirm it.

 He smiled, taking a strand of hair between his fingers and twisting it around, "what's on your mind?"

 She let out a laugh. "Everything."

 Louis kissed her, "where should we start?"

 Lyla sighed. "We should... get dressed. Pick up our son for breakfast?" It felt foreign to refer to someone as her ‘son’ after having years of knowledge telling her that she didn’t have a son.

 Louis nodded and stretched. Lyla slipped out of bed, a sheet wrapped around her figure. He watched her walk quickly to her bathroom and admired her a little longer as he listened to the sound of the shower begin. Then he sat up and walked down to the hall to shower himself.


	3. May 2007 (3)

"I didn't realize it's a church we'd be goin' to," Louis commented as he and Lyla's taxi pulled up outside the Hunts Point church where their son had been allowed to stay for the weekend. "These clothes aren't exactly my Sunday best."

"We're here for August. I'm sure you could wear a five-day-old potato sack and he'd still be thrilled,” Lyla joked.

“Guess you’re right,” he said as they exited the cab. “But I haven’t been to a church since I was a boy and I’m still feelin’ that Catholic guilt.”

Lyla laughed as the two of them walked up the steps of the church. It was an old building and looked like it had seen better days, but there was clear beauty in its age. The front doors were wide open, awaiting the first arrivals for Sunday services. Inside, the church was one of the smaller Louis had ever been in, and beautiful in its simplicity. As a boy, Louis could never wrap his head around the pomp and circumstance that accompanied Catholic masses that his mother would drag he and his brother to.

There were a few people seated, although the service wouldn't start for another hour. Louis and Lyla walked quietly to the front, hand in hand, searching for someone who could direct them to their son.

"Can I help you?" came a voice from behind them.

They both turned to see a man who, judging by his attire, would be the man they were looking for.

"Reverend James?" Lyla asked.

"Yes," he said with a kind smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I-I'm Lyla Novacek. This is my-" She paused, unsure what their actual status was. "This is Louis Connelly. We're here to see our son. August."

The Reverend's smiled widened and he held out his hand, "welcome! I tell you, we were amazed to hear the story of what had happened. How you found each other." Both Lyla and Louis shook his hand. "He's upstairs. Come with me." They followed him as he led them through a hallway and up a spiral staircase. "What do you both do for a living?" he asked as they climbed.

"I was a music teacher when I lived in Chicago. But for the past few months, I had really only been preparing for last night's concert with the Philharmonic."

"And you, Mr. Connelly?" The Reverend led the couple down another hallway, which opened up into a larger room.

"I worked as a product manager in San Francisco but moved to New York a couple of weeks back so’ve just been practicing and performing with my band."

Reverend James stopped and gestured to a sofa in the large room, still smiling. "I'm happy to hear that August's parents are as involved with music as he is, and I have a feeling that you'll show him more than he could ever see here, including immense love. But I have encountered many children and parents who lost children to the state, despite the love they had for them. I have communicated with the state on these matters quite often. My advice to you – and I hope that you take it to heart – is to find jobs with continuous and stable incomes. The state doesn't care how much money you made from one-time deals, or how much money you have saved up. It doesn't matter unless you have more money coming in and can provide a stable life for your child – at least as stable a one you could have with a child like August. Before your meeting with Mr. Jeffries tomorrow, decide where you'll live, what you'll do, and what kind of a life you'll provide August. Answer all their questions correctly, please the judge and state, and you'll be a family in no time."

Lyla smiled though felt a pang of panic within. She couldn’t lose August again when she was so close to getting him back, "thank you. We'll do our absolute best. I promise."

Reverend James nodded, "good. Now, if you'll wait here, I'll tell August you've arrived. You're the only thing he has been talking about since that concert last night."

As the Reverend left, Louis sighed. "That's a lot to take in. A lot to think about." He suddenly felt very nervous. He couldn't help wondering what would happen to him and Lyla if they were unable to gain custody of August. His mind was racing a million miles a minute, thinking of all the wrong things he could say. But his mind was put at ease when he felt Lyla take his hand.

"It will be okay, you know,” assuring herself as much as Louis. “The universe didn't bring us all together only to tear us apart."

"Happened before," Louis whispered, but he did feel better knowing that she was there.

"I think we've reached our quota."

August came rushing out of the door that Reverend James had disappeared through moments earlier, but stopped when he saw his parents. His initial thought was to run into his parents' arms upon their reunion, but seeing them there made him pause. He wanted to take it all in.

August's father looked wise and kind; his mother was the same, but more beautiful than he could ever have imagined and visibly brimming with love. She stood and walked over to him, Louis following immediately after.

Lyla walked halfway to him before stopping and opening her arms. She couldn't find words, but the action was enough. He walked quickly to her and they embraced. Louis ruffled August's hair and hugged them both.

After a long moment of silence and tears, August sniffled and said, "can we stay for the service?" Before either Louis or Lyla could respond, he continued, "the choir is really good, and my friend Hope has a beautiful voice."

They hardly wanted to deny August the first thing he ever asked of them, so they agreed to stay.

The three of them sat in the back, listening to the service. Lyla and Louis found that the choir and little girl were as talented as August had described; Lyla recognized them from the night before. By the time the service was over, it was noon and both Lyla and Louis were starved. The trio said their goodbyes to Reverend James and promised to have August back at a reasonable hour.

"I s'pose breakfast has turned to lunch. Where do you have in mind?" Louis said to neither Lyla or August in particular as they walked down the church steps.

August shrugged, "I don't really know the city all that well."

"Well, what kind of food do you like?"

August shrugged once more. "Anything, I guess," he said with a smile.

Louis patted his son's shoulder, "just like me in that. I know a little diner close to my hotel. Has a little bit of everythin'?"

"Sounds great," Lyla said, smiling.

They stayed at the diner for a long time, eating their lunch, having dessert, and learning about one another. Louis told them about his time as a boy in Ireland – about his mother who had died when he was nine and his father who left he and his brother when Louis was fifteen; about his brother Marshall who was both a right pain in his backside and his best friend. He told them about his band that had started playing together after Louis and Marshall had made their trip to San Francisco from Cork. He and Lyla talked about the night they met and the events that followed, all to August's invested interest. Lyla talked about what happened when he was born and what her father had done. She talked about her father's role in her life and his illness back in Chicago. She talked about music and her time in Juilliard.

August told them both about his life growing up at the boy's home and what made him leave; he talked about the bullies and the music, about Wizard and Arthur; about the church, Hope, and Reverend James, and about his own time at Juilliard.

It was almost three before they decided to pay their bill and continue on their way.

"What did you want to do today, August?" Lyla asked, brushing his hair from his face.

"Can I see where you live?" he asked.

"I think we can do that for you."

"Would you mind if I stop by my hotel? I'm afraid Marshall'll think I fell off the face of the planet and I could do with a change of clothes."

He led them down the street to a hole-in-the-wall hotel, usually reserved for travellers from all over the world and perfect for a band. "You two can wait in the lounge and I'll be down in two-shakes," Louis urged.

"Can I meet your brother?" August asked, hopeful.

Louis shot Lyla a look, as if pleading for them to stay downstairs, but Lyla shook her head and smiled. "I think that'd be a great idea. Besides, I'd like to meet him too."

Louis ran his hand through his hair and said, "you have." Lyla, confused, didn't respond. "D'you remember wakin' up the night after we met?"

“Oh,” Lyla laughed, remembering waking up to the sound of a camera, the spray of champagne, and the cackles of the Irish. "Even so."

He shrugged, "I guess I can't stop you. But ignore whatever he says. I mean it. Nothing but rubbish comes from that mouth of his."

They walked up the three flights of stairs to the room he and Marshall were sharing. When Louis opened the door, the room was dark, implying that Marshall was sleeping. "Just wait here," he said to August and Lyla, motioning for them to stay in the hall.

 He could see Marshall lying in his bed, naked and thankfully covered by his blanket. He could hear someone in the shower – Louis guessed that it was a girl from the night before. The floor was covered with all variety of clothes and empty bottles. Clearly a party had taken place in Louis' absence.

 Louis grabbed a pillow from his own bed and threw it at Marshall, who groaned. "It's three o'clock Marshall, get up and get dressed. I have... visitors."

 "Ah, Lou," Marshall almost shouted, stretching. "Take 'em somewhere else. I've got me a-" he looked around the room, confused.

 "She's in the shower, Marshall. And they want to meet you against all my warnings."

 Marshall rolled out of bed and Louis turned on the lights as his brother pulled on some jeans.

 "Good Christ, Marshall. Help me clean this place up."

 Louis finished cleaning up the bottles while Marshall threw all pieces of clothing but one shirt into his bag; the woman from the shower exited in a party dress.

 "Oh, you're up," she said, startled to see the two men awake and cleaning. The girl must've been ten years Marshall's junior. "I've, uh- thanks for la-"

 "Yeah, yeah. Get goin'," Marshall said, waving her off.

 The girl, visibly relieved, whispered, "thanks," and grabbed her heels and clutch before nearly running out of the door.

 Almost immediately after the door closed, there was a soft knock.

 Louis took a deep breath, "Marshall, you've got to be nice. I beg you, brother."

 Marshall chuckled and said, "I'm always nice."

 Louis shot him a look before slowly opening the door and wordlessly apologizing to Lyla before she and August stepped in.

 The room was better than Lyla had expected it would be. It smelled faintly of beer and sweat but was otherwise well-furnished and spacious. Almost immediately, she could tell which side of the room was occupied by which brother. Marshall's side had a garbage bin full of empty bottles; the bed's blankets were balled up and thrown on the bed, and his bag was overflowing with unfolded clothes. Louis' bag and guitar were propped neatly in his corner of the room and that was the only sign that someone else was staying there.

 Louis watched as Marshall's memory of Lyla came flashing back. "You know Lyla," he said. Louis could see the anger and protective brother about to explode from Marshall and quickly diverted his attention to the other visitor, "and this is August." He put his hand on his son's shoulder, bringing him forward.

 Almost immediately, Marshall's mood changed as Louis hoped it would. If anyone would recognize Louis' son, it was Marshall. The boy's connection to Louis was unmistakable.

 "My God, Lou," Marshall said, looking between the three of them. "Is he-?"

 "August is me and Lyla's son," Louis said, nodding.

 "'Course he is, Louie. Look at him." He stared at August, bewildered, for a moment longer before the anger returned. "Lou, I need to talk to you."

 Louis nodded and stepped out into the hallway with his brother who waited for him to close the hotel door before starting.

 "Are you out of your damned mind, Lou? What has it been? Ten years? More? And she just suddenly shows up to tell you about this kid? What, did the princess' inheritance run out? Now she's hunting for some money? The kid's clearly yours. There's no doubt there. But you can't let her sucker you! She-"

 "First off, Marshall,” Louis interrupted, his voice overpowering his brother’s, “she thought the kid was dead. Second, she could do just fine on her own if that weren't the case. She's not suckerin' me, Marshall. I finally found her and I'm not lettin’ her go this time."

 "She thought the kid was dead?” Marshall scoffed, “that's the story she's goin' with?"

 "It's a long story Marshall. Just let it go and trust me,” Louis pleaded.

 "I don't have nowhere to be, baby bro. Why don't you tell me this 'long story' and then I'll see if I can trust your judgement, yeah?"

 Louis sighed and sat on the floor with his back leaning against the wall. Marshall followed suit and listened as Louis told him about August's birth, Lyla's discovery, and their reunion the night before, including his meeting with August the afternoon prior.

 "So, the kid's a guitar player like his da?" Marshall confirmed after the story was told.

 Louis snorted, "that would be what you take from it all."

 In the hotel room, August and Lyla could hear every word being said from beginning to end. Lyla was embarrassed but August seemed unaffected. While the voices got loud and then quiet again, August walked to the guitar case that was propped up in the corner. He laid it down on the bed and opened it. It was the guitar he had played with Louis the day before. In the case were a series of pictures of his dad with his band mates, happy and almost certainly drunk. Lyla watched August remove the guitar from the case carefully, smiling all the time.

 He paused as he saw another picture beneath the guitar for safe-keeping. It was a Polaroid of his mother and father when they were younger, sleeping.

 "Look," he said, holding the picture out to Lyla.

 She smiled and took the photo from his hand. As soon as she saw the picture, tears began to well up in her eyes. She laughed. Everything still felt like a dream.

 When Louis and Marshall came back in the room, August was on Louis' bed, playing a song without a name while Lyla looked on in admiration, a photo in her hand.

 August stopped playing when he saw them. Marshall walked up to him and leaned down to look him square in the eye. "So, I guess you're my nephew?"

 August nodded, "yes, sir."

 Marshall laughed and stood up, slapping him on the back, maybe a little too hard. "Ya hear that, Lou? I'm a 'sir'."

 Louis smiled at August's slightly shocked face. "Remember what I said, August. Don't listen to a word he says."

 "Is that what he told ya?" Marshall asked August.

 Again, August nodded.

 "Well, I say don't listen to your da. I am full of info about your old man that would make your head spin and your mam blush. But I'll tell you all that when you're older."

 August laughed, embarrassment clear on his face.

 "Lyla, is it?" he said, turning to her.

 She smiled while trying to appear tough, "you know that it is."

 Marshall smirked, "ah well, I s'pose I do. Now, you left my bro in quite a state all those years ago. I'm not saying it was all your fault. I'm just saying that if you ever do that again, you'll have me to answer to. Understood?"

 "Yes, sir," she said slyly, earning laughter from all three in the room.

 "Well, we just came here so I could change into some fresh clothes and then we'll be on our way." Louis opened his bag. Unlike his brother's bag, Louis' clothes were all neatly folded.

 "Ah, Lou," Marshall said, "why don't you just take the whole thing? I know you want to. I know Lyla wants you to. You're footing half the bill no matter what, so you might as well be happy."

 Louis looked to Lyla who smiled shyly and gave a quick nod.

 They packed up his bag and guitar. As they were heading out, Marshall said, "I'll see you soon, man. Then I'll tell you some of those stories."

 August smiled and nodded, taking hold of his mother's hand as the trio left.


	4. August 2007

_August 2007_

Louis and Lyla had spent the summer meeting with the right people, signing the right forms, appearing in front of judges, and shaping their future.

They decided that Lyla's apartment could be ample space for the three of them for the time being. It was in a good area and close to Juilliard so that August could continue his musical education. They were also close to good private and public schools so that he could continue his regular education.

Lyla decided that she would tutor music part time, but also accepted an offer to be a permanent cellist with the New York Philharmonic as one of the cellists retired after thirty-five years with the symphony. Marshall had been able to keep The Connelly Brothers fully booked every weekend in venues around New York on behalf of Louis (and for the benefit of the whole band). During the week, he was back in an office with a great recommendation from his boss in San Francisco despite his sudden exit.

During the summer, their evenings were spent with each other, on the phone with August, or with music in one way or another. Louis' band would play Friday and Saturday nights, and Lyla would watch if she could. Regardless of what was going on in their lives, Sunday was always reserved for visiting August in the boy's home just outside of the city. Sometimes they'd take him into the city for the day, but most of the time, they'd stay in the area and take in the nature around them.

It was a Wednesday when Lyla and Louis appeared in court to find out whether or not they would gain custody of August. Richard Jeffries had helped move the case along and the special nature of their case also helped. Louis and Lyla's lawyers convinced the state that they were at fault for the boy being mistakenly put up for adoption because they did not confirm the authenticity of the documents. The state seemed to agree. The three months was an extremely short amount of time to wait when it came to the custody of a child in the system, but no one was complaining.

Lyla and Louis stood in front of the judge in their best clothes, eager and hopeful.

"Ms. Novacek and Mr. Connelly," the judge began. "Your case is quite unique to the State of New York and will hopefully be used as a basis for the future where giving up a child for adoption is concerned. As I understand it, you talk with your son over the telephone almost every evening and manage to see him every weekend. This shows me you are able and willing to spend time with your child. With stable jobs, an excellent relationship with each other and your son, and outstanding character references from numerous people from the both of you, I see no reason for you not to have legal guardianship over Mr. Taylor. On behalf of the State of New York, I hereby grant you full shared custody of Evan Taylor, effective immediately."

Whoops and hollers came from a small group consisting of Louis' band mates with more appropriate applause from other less rowdy friends accompanying them.

Lyla began crying as soon as the judge's gavel sounded and she hugged Louis before crouching for August as he ran into her arms. She picked him up as much as she could and Louis embraced them both.

The rest of the day was spent moving August out of the boy's home and into what would be their family home.

The days leading up to August's first day of school were spent registering at and preparing for a nearby public school. Public school had won out over private school because Louis had argued that private school wasn't the most diverse of places and churned out lunatics.

"You know, I only ever attended private schools," Lyla countered.

"Yeah, and you fell in love with a man the first night you met him after he told you that he talked to the moon." Louis smirked, "you're not a shining example to be using." Lyla playfully slapped his arm. "'Sides, he'll basically be at a private school every Saturday. That ought to be enough. He'll be successful anywhere."

On the Saturday before school would start, Lyla and August accompanied The Connelly Brothers to their show. Before the show started, Louis pulled August aside.

"August, I was thinkin'- but I wanted t’ see what you thought first. I was thinkin’ I'd ask yer mam t’ marry me tonight. During our set. What d'you think?"

August grinned widely, "I think that's a great idea!"

Louis nodded, "the thing that I've been strugglin' with is that it might be too soon. Uncle Marshall says I'd be crazy. After all, we haven't known each other all that long."

"But you've been in love for a long time."

"That's the truth," Louis said, nodding.

"She'll say yes no matter when you ask. It doesn't make sense to wait," August argued.

"Okay," Louis nodded again. "I'll ask her at the end of our set. Go find her. And don't say a word." He patted August on the shoulder before he ran off with a smile.

August watched his father perform for the first time, marvelling at the different mashups of guitar and drum and fiddle, wanting to be up there himself. But he couldn’t help wondering when the last song would play so that his dad would propose to his mom. They played six or seven songs before Louis was given a stool to sit on.

"Now, usually we play this song a little earlier and end with one of our more energetic pieces to keep you going with the next performer. But they're going to have to forgive me just this once. I'm goin' to tell you a little story. About twelve years ago, I met this beauty of a girl and spent a wonderful night with her. She was smart, loved music deep down to her soul like I did, and didn't think me crazy for some of the things I said to her. We tried to meet the next day, but she was forced back to her home in Chicago and I never saw her again. I wrote a song about it, but we won't be playin' that tonight." Louis smiled, "the song we're goin' to play is the other one I wrote in her honour just before I found her again this past Spring. I'm not goin' to tell ya the whole story because we're runnin' out of time, but the night I found her again was also the night we both met our son for the first time. This song holds a whole lot of meanin' for me and I would like to sing it for you all tonight. For you and Lyla, who is sittin' with our son down in the front here. This is 'Something Inside.'"

On cue, the band played the first few notes and Louis began to sing: _"When the one thing you're looking for is nowhere to be found..."_

Lyla smiled while the song played. She closed her eyes and listened. This was her favourite song that Louis had written, and she always enjoyed it when he played it for her.

As the final notes sounded, Lyla and August cheered with the rest of the crowd, the former oblivious to what would come next.

"Thank you all. Now, we have time for one more song, but I'm going to talk some more instead, perhaps against the band’s objections. Maybe against yours. Me and Marshall's mam died when we were boys, but before she did, she gave me some things. Some objects, some advice. One thing she gave me is something I'd like to give someone else. Ever since this past May, I've spent as much time as possible with my new family, learnin' as much about them as possible. It's only been about three months, but the love I have for Lyla has been continuous since that first night we met."

Suspicion or realization began to wash over Lyla. She looked to her son whose eyes were fixed on his father, an eager smile stretched across his face. Slowly, she looked back to her love.

"So, Lyla," Louis said as he stood from the stool on which he sat and fished something out of his pocket. He knelt down on one knee and continued with a smile, "would you do me the honour of becomin' my wife?"

Tears began streaming down Lyla's face like a broken faucet as she nodded; she stood frozen in place, not sure what to do.

"Lou," Marshall's voice came over the microphone, "I think you shocked the girl to death. But she seems to be sayin' yes." Cheers came from people throughout the audience, "c'mon up here, girly."

Louis stood as August pulled his mother's arm, half dragging her up to the stage. Her hand was covering her mouth as she made her way onto the stage towards Louis, her face wet with tears.

"Is that a yes?" Louis asked her as he wiped tears from her cheeks.

Unable to speak, Lyla nodded furiously. Louis took her left hand and slipped his mother's ring on his new fiancée's finger, earning more cheers from the crowd. He pulled her into a passionate kiss. 

"She most definitely said yes," Marshall shouted into the microphone. "Welcome to the Connelly clan, sweetheart. For better _or_ worse." The crowd cheered louder, "thank you all. Now we'll get out of here to make room for Poor Unknown. Their set'll be miles less sappy. See ya next time!"


	5. Birthdays 2007-8

_December 2007_

August's twelfth birthday was made to be a very special occasion. Not only was it the first birthday that all three of them would get to celebrate as a family, but it was also the first birthday that August actually looked forward to. He had been living with his parents for just over three months and finally felt like all the pieces of his life were fitting together.

It was the week before August's birthday when Louis and Lyla had asked him what he wanted to do on the weekend to celebrate. During the day on Saturday, August would be in classes at Juilliard, but Louis and Lyla had set time aside for the evening to do whatever he liked. Louis had not booked any shows and Lyla was free from Philharmonic duties.

"I'd just like to see my friends and family, and play music," August said simply.

Louis smiled, "I think we can arrange that." The kid was a musical genius, but he enjoyed the simple things in life.

So, in their spare time, Lyla and Louis prepared a party for their son. He invited some of his friends from school that he had made, but the guest list consisted mostly of adults that cared for August – Louis' band mates, Lizzy and her husband, and the people from the church who had helped August in his time of need. Everybody was invited to bring something musical, whether it be their instrument, voice, or a recording. August's favourite thing in the world was to play and hear music, and that's what they'd do.

The apartment was filled to the brim with people. Louis had provided food and Lyla had provided drink. Everyone was having a great time, though August's friends from his public school seemed a little overwhelmed while the ones from Juilliard fit in well.

As guests began toying with their instruments, Lyla tried unsuccessfully to interrupt and speak over them. No one heard her and it was Louis who had to shout to get their attention.

"Thank you," Lyla said shyly as Louis planted a kiss on her cheek. In the loudest voice she could muster, which wasn't all that loud, Lyla began to speak. "Now, August's only request for his birthday was for his friends and family to celebrate with him through music. No gifts were requested. Just that. And I know he is very happy that so many people showed up for him." August was sitting on the sofa with some of his school friends, his guitar in his lap and a smile on his face. "However, there is one more thing Louis and I would like to give him and it's something that has been a few months in the making."

Lyla was holding a piece of paper in her hand. "When August was born and placed into the system, he was given the name Evan Taylor. When he ventured on his own into the city at just eleven years old, he adopted the name August Rush. He liked and has been going by the name August ever since. So, when Louis and I gained legal custody of him, I put in an official request to have his name changed. Here in my hand, I have August's new birth certificate, listing both Louis and I as his parents and his legal name as August Connelly."

Louis was slightly taken aback to hear August have his name rather than hers, but August was ecstatic. He leaned his guitar against the sofa and ran over to his mother as the guests applauded. She showed him the paper and he gave her and Louis big hugs before returning to his guitar and friends.

As the guests returned their attention to the music, Louis spoke to Lyla: "Connelly? I'm a little bit surprised you didn't go with Novacek."

"I'll be changing my name to Connelly eventually," Lyla responded. "I figured it would make more sense to give him your name right away."

Louis smiled and brought her hand to his lips. "What do you say we join in the fun?" Lyla nodded and the two found their instruments to join the others. 

* * *

  _July 2007_

"Whatcha got planned for your birthday, baby bro?" Marshall asked Louis over drinks after their show one Saturday night.

"When is your birthday?!" Lyla cut in. She and Louis had been getting to know each other better, but that was one thing they hadn't yet talked about – when their birthdays were.

"Next Friday. The 27th," Louis responded. "I don't know. I don't really feel like doing anythin'," he added, answering Marshall.

"The 27th? That's less than a week away!" Lyla exclaimed, "what am I supposed to get you in such a short time?"

At the same time, Marshall said, "ah, well you're comin' out with me and the boys for once then."

"You don't have to get me nothin', Lyla," Louis said. "Marshall, if it's my birthday, shouldn't I choose what I do?"

"Louie, you never choose the fun things, so the decision has to be left to me. Friday after the show, we're takin' you out. Sorry, darlin’."

Despite Louis telling Lyla not to get him anything, she had. She asked her best friend, Lizzy, for ideas and decided to surprise him the Thursday before his birthday.

He had called to say he'd be late. Louis was putting in extra hours following the recent firing of a few employees and it was becoming more stressful than he liked. He didn't mind working in an office for a 9-5 day, but when it turned into overtime almost daily, he began to hate it.

Louis walked in the door after 7 that night and fell onto the sofa, hungry and exhausted.

"Louis?" Lyla called as she walked from their bedroom to the living room.

He sat up and she sat next to him on the sofa.

"How was your day?" she asked, noting how tired he looked.

"Ah," Louis said, sighing. "If I never saw that place again, I'd die a happy man."

Lyla chuckled, "so, as good as every other day this week?"

"Mhmm," he responded, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the sofa's back. He wrapped his arms around Lyla, who cuddled into him.

Louis was about to doze off when he felt Lyla sit up. "What is it?" he asked.

After a moment, she spoke. "I know you're tired and said I didn't need to get you anything for your birthday, but I did."

"Yeah?" Louis said, sitting up. "What'd you get me?"

"Well, I had Lizzy help me," she said, standing up, face reddening. "It's kind of embarrassing, but... I'll be right back." Lyla almost ran to their bedroom. She returned several minutes later in a long silk silver robe, her heels clicking slowly on the hardwood floors.

Louis watched her walk from the hallway to the windows. Her hair was let down; the robe showed off her figure. She closed the drapes and then turned to face him. She looked down at the ground for a moment, as if composing herself. When she looked at Louis, he was smirking, waiting.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead took a deep breath and said a quiet, "okay."

Lyla untied her robe and let it slip to the ground, revealing an outfit that Louis would never have thought she would ever wear. Her bra was sheer black with a white bow between her breasts, and her black thong was covered by a small, sheer black skirt with white ruffles and a bow. The skirt connected to thigh-high lace stockings with black garters. Louis grinned at her uncharacteristic appearance.

"What?" Lyla said, smiling and suggestive.

Louis stood from the sofa, stepping towards her. He pulled her close to him and softly said, "I don't feel all that tired anymore.” 

* * *

  _March 2008_

Lyla had always been a homebody and enjoyed the simple things. If she could help it, she never went to parties; she always preferred to keep things low-key.

Her birthday was on a Sunday and her only request was to spend it with Louis and August, which wasn't very different from most Sundays. In the morning, Louis and August woke up early to make her breakfast in bed, which turned into breakfast in the kitchen after they realized they didn't have anything on which to bring all of it to her.

While she ate, Louis and August played a song on their guitars that they had written together; music by August, lyrics by his father. Lyla smiled and applauded when they finished, tears fresh in her eyes.

Later, the family of three decided to visit Central Park, having visited the park several times since their reunion nearly a year previous. They spent the entire day walking around, listening to different musicians, visiting the zoo, and eating foods from various vendors. They were exhausted by the time they returned home in the evening.

To end the night, the three of them watched a film of Lyla's choosing in the living room. By nine o'clock, they were all ready for bed. August said goodnight and went to his room. Lyla tidied up while Louis disappeared.

When he was finished, she locked the door and turned off the lights until the only one left was the one in her and Louis' bedroom. She walked in, expecting him to have passed out on the bed, but he wasn't there.

"Louis?" she called, closing the bedroom door behind her.

"In here," he responded from the master bathroom.

Lyla followed his voice. The bathroom was dark but for a faint glow. Inside, she saw Louis set down a candle on the counter before facing her.

He had filled the bathtub up with water and bubbles and had lit candles all around the bathroom.

"I figured you'd like a bath to help you relax," he said, running his fingers along her bare arm.

"It's perfect," Lyla said, brushing her lips over his. "Will you join me?"

Louis smiled softly, "of course."


	6. February 2008

Lyla woke one Saturday morning, the arms of her love wrapped firmly around her, which had become the norm. She liked waking up like that, feeling warm and safe. As soon as she awoke, her heart would start racing and she could feel the overwhelming love she had for Louis. She hoped that the feeling would never go away.

Lyla shifted in Louis' arms so that she could see his sleeping face. His expression was always so soft and she wondered what he dreamed about. She always seemed to be the one who woke up first and knew he'd wake up shortly after, so she waited, admiring him.

"What are you lookin' at?" Louis croaked, sensing that he was being watched.

Lyla answered with a kiss.

Louis opened his eyes and stretched with a groan before meeting his fiancée’s eyes.

They sat in silence as the sun rose higher in the sky.

"What're you thinkin' about?" Louis asked after some time, feeling that he may fall back to sleep.

"Would you ever want another child?" Lyla asked hesitantly.

Louis thought for a moment. "Well- well, I s'pose I've always wondered what it'd be like to have a daughter. Maybe name her after me mam. She had a brother and my da had three brothers; most all my relatives've been men. It's all well and good, but it'd be nice to have... a break in that. Do you want more children?"

Lyla nodded, "I love August and am so thankful to have him in my life again. I think he'd be a great big brother. I hope I don't sound horrible for saying that I want to raise a child from infancy. I missed most of August's firsts and I constantly wonder what it would be like."

"You don't sound horrible. I'd like to see those things too," Louis said. "Did you want to start tryin' for one?" he winked.

Lyla laughed, "not yet. Soon, but not yet." She paused. "Tell me about your mother. And your family. Do you have a lot of relatives over in Ireland?"

"I've got me plenty of uncles over there. Cousins, aunts. We never really talked even before I left though. I'd like to go back though. Someday.

"Mam was a sweet woman until you made her angry but she was kind-hearted. She dragged me and Marshall to mass every Sunday and as many other days as possible. She was Catholic but da was Protestant. Plenty of arguments over that. It's gotten to the point, though, where I don't really remember what she looked like."

"You don't have any pictures of her?"

"Nah, we didn't really take pictures. And any ones we do have from back then were taken by her. I do know that I took after her – she gave me her eyes and hair; Marshall is almost a spitting image of our da."

"It sounds like she was beautiful. What was her name?"

"Molly. Molly Rose Connelly."

"That's a good name," Lyla said, smiling.

"Mhmm... She died when I was nine and Marshall was thirteen. She had been sick for awhile, and it finally took her one night when I was readin' to her. She liked getting me to read from this old book of Irish fairy tales every night when she started havin' to spend all her time in bed. Most of the time, she'd fall asleep while I read. I would keep readin' and it would wake her up. She'd thank me and then send me off to bed. When she died, I didn't even know it happened until I got to the end of one of the stories. I just thought she fell asleep.” He paused, remembering the night vividly. Lyla brushed her fingers on his cheek.

"Da was angry at me for a while after that. He hated that he didn't get to say goodbye. Started drinkin' heavily and Marshall pretty well took over raisin' me, even though he wasn't much older. Da left when I was fifteen, just after Marshall turned eighteen. He was thoughtful enough to leave some money, but Marshall quit school right away to start workin'. We played gigs round the city, which earned a little money, but it was mostly Marshall's work in a warehouse and bar that helped keep us goin'."

"Is Marshall much like your dad was?"

Louis chuckled, "yeah. Da and mam were as opposite as me and Marshall are. We both have parts of each parent, but Marshall got da’s obnoxious nature and charisma while I got mam's more reserved nature, I guess. But Marshall's a better man than da."

Lyla nodded, unsure of what to say. She hadn't seen any of Marshall's good nature, but Louis was convinced it was there and she trusted him.

"Where's your mam?" Louis asked, never having asked about her family. "Is there anyone besides your da?"

"No," Lyla said. "My mom died after giving birth to me. I don't really know the details. I just know they didn't make it to the hospital in time. I think that's part of the reason he was so angry about me being pregnant – he was worried. Both of his parents died before I was born and he didn't have any siblings. I don't really know about my mom's side – if she had living parents or any siblings. I think my dad became so obsessed with keeping me safe that he unintentionally overdid it."

"Will you ever introduce him to August?"

Lyla shifted uncomfortably, "I don't know."

"I know he's done unforgivable things, but he was well-meanin'," Louis replied. "August deserves to know where he comes from in any case. I think you might just regret it if your dad were to get sick again and die without meetin' his only grandchild."

Lyla shrugged, "maybe." She smirked, "maybe after we have that other child of ours."

Louis laughed, "okay. Then, my love."


	7. May 2008

_May 2008_

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

Lyla sat silently as the old grandfather clock vibrated hollowly in the sitting room of her childhood home.

She had no desire to be there. She would have rather been anywhere else in the world than there in her father’s home. But she made a promise. Not just to August, but to Louis and herself as well.

She would be marrying Louis, the unintentional love of her life, in two months with their son cheering them on along with their friends and Louis’ brother. Although the wedding would be perfect just like that, Lyla didn’t want to be stuck in the past and she worried that ignoring her father would just be a constant reminder of her life before. She didn’t expect to forgive him right away, if ever, but she wanted August to know where he came from as much as August wanted the same.

So, she decided to make her way back to Chicago for the weekend to… talk to her father. She wasn’t even sure what she could say. She knew that she would tell him about August and Louis; she knew that she would probably say something she’d regret. But that was it. She hadn’t thought beyond that.

Lyla arrived in the morning without warning and was let in by her father’s staff. She hadn’t wanted to warn him and have him convince her to meet at some high-end restaurant where she couldn’t make a scene. She wasn’t usually one to make a lot of noise unless she was angry, and she had a feeling that she would be angry and would want to make a lot of noise.

Her father had gone on his morning swim, which he cut short when he was told that his daughter was home. While he was showering and dressing, Lyla waited stoically and scanned the room. She had memories of herself in this room as a child and teen, mostly during parties that her father would hold for the elite after whatever performance he or Lyla had featured in. Otherwise, she never spent time in there. It was a formal room.

Her time in the house would most often be spent in the music room or her own bedroom. She and her father were friendly with one another, but she could never remember a time where he acted like a playful father with his daughter. It wasn’t like she felt different from her friends though. She went to a private school with other affluent children who had similar relationships with their parents – everything had to be a certain way or it wasn’t ‘polite’. Even though the relationship was colder than other children with their parents – colder than Louis with his mother, and colder than August would ever experience with his parents – she couldn’t say that she felt unloved. Lyla knew that her father’s pressure and nagging was from a place of love, not contempt; people who push their kids wouldn’t bother if they didn’t care for the child.

Their relationship had been okay.

When she had become pregnant with the child of ‘some boy’, their relationship grew even more strained. He constantly urged for her to consider giving the child up for adoption, but she wanted to keep the connection to Louis. Even looking back, Lyla knew that was insane – how on Earth could anyone meet and sleep with a person _one_ night and know instantly that they wouldn’t find anyone who would compare? It was insane and naïve. And yet, there she was, over a decade later, about to marry that same man.

When she thought she had lost the baby – when her father let her think that she had lost the baby – Lyla grew more distant. She gave up music, she moved away from her father, and she fell into depression before getting into teaching. Occasionally, she and her father would speak over the phone, but there was always a distance between their words.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak, was the revelation of what had truly happened the night of August’s birth.

Her father, clearly thinking that he was on death’s door and wanting to be honest, opened up to her and it was the last he had ever spoken to her.

Their relationship was damaged, and there was only the tiniest part of Lyla that wanted to fix it while the rest loathed to think about even seeing his face.

Lyla felt the burn of angry tears all over again and began to truly consider storming out before even having a word with her father until his voice interrupted her thoughts: “Lyla.”

She glanced up at him standing in the large archway from the hall and was shocked by his appearance. The last image she had of him – even before the hospital bed – was a robust (though not unhealthily so) man who always had combed hair and never went anywhere unless in a suit. Even Saturday mornings as a girl, she remembered her father looking like he was ready for any business meeting or impromptu recital that came his way. Now, however, he was much different. He had lost weight; not in a sickly, heart-failure-induced way, but in an eat-healthy-and-exercise way, probably brought on by the heart attack, and he wore khakis with a dress shirt and belt – not exactly a bum, but definitely more casual than what she was used to. He looked friendlier this way.

“Good morning,” she said a little too coldly, unsure of how else to greet him.

He sat on the sofa opposite her, a mahogany coffee table acting as a barrier between them. “You look well,” he said.

“You do too,” she said honestly.

The pauses between them felt awkward and much longer than they were.

“I’m glad you’re here,” her father offered, sincere.

Lyla, unsure about what to say, didn’t respond.

“I saw your name on the Philharmonic roster when I was last in New York. I saw you perform in November. You were wonderful, of course.”

That took Lyla by surprise. She never thought that her father would be in the audience at one of her performances – or that he wouldn’t have some sort of professional critique.

“I would’ve thought you’d try to contact me if you knew where I was,” Lyla said.

“I knew that you went to New York to look for… the child. I didn’t think you’d want to be anywhere near me,” he responded, visibly uncomfortable with the mention of his mistake.

“I found him,” she blurted with a lot less ceremony than she had expected.

“You did?” He almost sounded relieved. “Where was he?”

“He lived most of his life in a boy’s home in upstate New York,” she bit. “But by the time I got there, he had run away and was living on the streets in the city.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t get to apologize,” Lyla responded, barely letting him finish. “Because of you, I missed out on a decade of his life. I missed out on his first steps, his first word, and so much more than I’ll ever get to know. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.”

“Did you find him though – after the boys’ home? After the streets?”

Lyla nodded, her face automatically lighting up at the thought of their reunion, “I did.”

“I know that I can never undo my stupidity, and a million apologies wouldn’t be enough, but I want to know him. Would you tell me about him? Please?”

She had disgust in her heart for her father, but her love of August, and all the good that had happened to her in the last year, won out. “He truly is one of the most brilliant individuals I have ever met. He is kind and talented – within 6 months, he went from never having played an instrument to attending Juilliard and writing his own piece for the Philharmonic’s Concert in the Park last year. And family is so important to him, which is why I’m here.”

“Juilliard? He can’t be more than…”

“Thirteen. He attends Juilliard on the weekends and public school on the weekdays. He wants to meet you.”

“Of course, I would love to—”

“There’s something else first.”

After a pause, Lyla’s father urged her on.

“On the day I found August – I was at the same concert and had performed a solo with the orchestra before August began his piece – I was leaving when I heard his piece called ‘August’s Rhapsody’ and there was something about it… a power that called to me. I knew I would find him there and knew I had to turn around. I stood in front of the stage, this child – my child – conducting an _orchestra_ , when I felt this other pull. I looked to my right, and saw him. Louis. The… father. August’s father. Just like that, we were a family. And Louis and I are getting married. In July. We—I want you to be there.”

“Married? You barely—”

“Dad,” Lyla interrupted before her father could lecture her. “I met this man thirteen years ago and fell in love instantly. Thirteen years ago, you were right to be concerned. I was young and naïve. But now? Now, it has been thirteen years that we’ve loved each other, even if we were apart and lost for twelve of them. Neither of us continued with our passion of music until… suddenly, we did. Our passion brought us to that park at the same time on the same night and brought us all together. That is what fairy tales are made of. That’s what fate is. You can fight it and make everyone around you unhappy or embrace it and revel in the happiness that three people share.”

Her father sat silent for a moment, thinking about the validity of the story. It truly seemed too good to be true. However, he knew that for all of their disagreements, Lyla had never been one to lie. Not like him. She was as honest as her mother was, and although the story seemed unlikely, he trusted his daughter. “Okay,” he said finally.

“Okay?”

“I know that I haven’t been the best father, but I have only ever wanted your happiness. If this is what will make you happy, and if this is how I will meet my grandson, then okay. I will do what I must.”


	8. June 2008

_June 2008_

 Lyla awoke to a loud crash from her living room. She sat up in bed, the darkness only giving way to the small crack of light coming from under her bedroom door. Automatically, her hand searched the emptiness on her right to find that Louis had not yet returned from his band’s set at The Incubus. There had been talk on Marshall's part of celebrating Louis' waning freedom.

 As her mind became less foggy from sleep, a great commotion could be heard in the living room along with soft voices. There was more than one. Her heart began to race as she searched for something she could use to defend herself, thanking God that August was staying at a friend’s house for the night. Realizing she had nothing useful like scissors or a baseball bat, she unplugged her lamp and wrapped the cord around the base before unscrewing the light bulb and removing the lampshade. Armed with her lamp, she’d try to sneak to her phone or out of the apartment and then figure it out from there.

 Opening her door a crack, she peered out, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruders. However, the hallway was too far removed from the living room for her to see anything.

 Taking a deep breath, she carefully opened the door completely and crept towards the noise, lamp held high. The voices became more distinct as she neared the living room. By the door, three sets of shoes were strewn carelessly outside of the closet. What kind of intruders removed footwear?

 Closer, and she could hear the unmistakable lilt of her soon-to-be brother-in-law’s Irish accent. She sighed, letting the tension leave her body as her arms fell to her side. Around the corner, the odd piece of clothing was draped over the sofa and armchair. She worried what she would find. Leaning beyond the wall so that she could see into the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of the mess being created. An extra large deep dish pepperoni pizza lay open on the kitchen table along with beer bottles in various states of emptiness.

 Marshall, in his undershirt, was sitting back on one of the kitchen chairs, feet up on another, while Nick sat shirtless on the counter, head against the cupboards, a slice of pizza in one hand and a beer hanging precariously in the other. Louis sat on a chair with his back to Lyla and the living room; he was bent over the table, head on one arm, overdressed in his dark jacket, while the other arm brought pizza lazily to his mouth.

 “No, you see,” Marshall whispered loudly, “If we were in Ireland, we’d do this right. Americans are boring. Why are you marryin' an American? You need to marry an Irish girl. We’ll go back and you can marry an Irish girl.”

 “Irish girls don’t even want to marry Irish girls,” Nick slurred with a slice of pizza resting in his mouth.

 “Nah, Irish girls are nice. Just stay away from the North,” Marshall said. He took a swig from the bottle in his hand. “Louie, y’still with us?”

 “Mmm,” Louis responded, either pizza or sleep keeping him from forming words.

 “C’mon man,” Marshall said, forgetting all pretense of whispering. “It’s two in the bloody morning on a Saturday. You’re gettin’ married next week. This is a pathetic use of your last free weekend!”

 “Whadyu mean ‘free’?” Nick chimed in, matching Marshall’s volume. “He said goodbye to freedom the day he met his girl. Over a decade of chains.”

 “Shut up,” Louis said half-heartedly, eyes closed, not seeming to care about saying anything more.

 “Sure told you,” Marshall joked to Nick. “C’mon,” he said, kicking the chair in front of him away suddenly and standing up. “Let’s—” As he stood, he caught sight of Lyla watching the scene amused. She had seen them drunk before, but had never seen Louis quite so done in. “Ah, the lady of the hour,” Marshall said as he walked over to Lyla. He draped his arm over her shoulders and persuaded her to sit in the chair he had kicked away. “Look who it is, Louie.”

 Louis opened one eye, smirked, and then closed it.

 “Looks like you’ve had quite the night,” Lyla said, smiling.

 “Tell me,” Marshall began. “What is it about you that got my Louie after just one night?”

 “We’re supposed to be writing our own vows. I guess I’ll find out Saturday.”

 Marshall smiled and shrugged, “beer?” Without waiting for an answer, he opened one and set it in front of her.

 “What did you get up to tonight? Where are Brian and Steve?”

 “Ah, somethin' about wives or cats or children,” Marshall said with another swig of beer.

 “What about you, Nick? Emily not waiting for you?”

 “Nah,” Nick replied. “She's had a ‘girl’s night’ and wanted me out anyway.”

 “Tell me, sister-in-law,” Marshall said, rising from his chair once more. “Why’re you carryin' a lamp around with you at two in the mornin'?”

 “I was rudely awakened by some drunk Irishmen in my kitchen. Only I didn’t know they were _my_ drunk Irishmen.”

 “So, you thought you’d beat us with a lamp, did ya?”

 “With the help of my good looks and charm. Of course.”

 “Oh, of course,” Marshall grinned. “Well, there’s no use sittin' there looking pretty. Drink. Eat pizza. We’re goin’ to put some music on and have a little party, isn’t that right, Lou?”

 Louis’ only response was the unmistakable breathing pattern of someone fast asleep.

 “Louie!” Marshall shouted, causing Louis to shoot up and look around, confused.

 “Lyla?” He seemed to be unsure as to where he was.

 Lyla stood and, taking his drowsy face in both of her hands, softly kissed his forehead. “I think it’s time for bed,” she whispered.

 “No!” Marshall howled.

 “Shhh! We have neighbours,” Lyla laughed.

 “You’re a traitor, girly. This is s’posed to be his stag night and here you are puttin' a wrench in the whole thing.”

 “You shouldn’t have come home then,” Lyla retorted, but sat back down and took a sip of the offered beer anyway.

 “Lyla,” Louis repeated. “Lyla’s right. I think,” he laboured, trying his best -- and failing -- not to slur.

 “If you get out of that chair, baby bro, I’m goin' to batter ya, yeah?” Marshall said, standing tall and looming. “We just need a little bit of music and little bit of rum.”

 “I’m certain rum is the last thing that any of you need,” Lyla said, standing and walking to the entertainment system. “But music, I can do.”

 “No, not any of that shit you listen to,” Marshall said, a little too belligerently and a little too unbalanced, the alcohol clearly starting to catch up with him.

 Lyla rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t going to—you know what? You come and put something on.” She decided to forgo explaining herself to a drunk man. “Just… keep the volume at a reasonable level.”

 As Marshall stumbled towards the stereo to fiddle with the tuning dial, Lyla went back into the kitchen to tend to Louis. “What did you guys do tonight?” she asked Nick who seemed to be nearing Louis’ state more than Marshall’s.

 “Had our set, had some drinks, and had some more,” he murmured, more to himself, it seemed, than to Lyla. “We fed Louis a wee bit more than we had ourselves. To celebrate.”

 “Of course.”

 “Decided to come back when Lou had trouble standin'.” Nick, his eyes already closed, turned his body to lie on the kitchen counter, clearly tired of sitting.

 Louis had let his head fall back on his outstretched arm as he fought to keep his eyes open.

 Lyla sighed and filled up a glass with water. “Sit up, love,” she coaxed. He did as she wished, though with great effort. Sticking a straw in the glass, she demanded that he drink, which he slowly did. “How are you feeling?”

 Louis shrugged, as if the effort to speak was too much.

“Nothin'!” Marshall mumbled in the living room, stumbling onto the sofa with the stereo left to play static.

 Lyla stood up straight, suddenly irritated. “Alright, it’s time to go to bed,” she announced.

 Marshall simply groaned, now feeling the weight of what he had consumed.

 “Louis, take your water, brush your teeth and go to bed. Marshall, go to August’s bed. Nick, take the sofa; I’ll get you some sheets.” Lyla marched to the hall closet and took out a twin sheet, spare comforter, and down pillow. When she returned, much to her chagrin, the men remained unchanged. Annoyed and tired herself, she threw the linen on the sofa, turned off the stereo, and left the men to their own devices.

 When Lyla woke again, it was still early as evidenced by the pale blue-grey light in her bedroom. She still felt exhausted and would go back to sleep shortly. However, she could hear the sound of running water sounding from her en suite, which was what had woken her up, and decided to first wait for Louis to join her in bed.

 Emerging from the bathroom, he appeared to have seen better days. Bags under his eyes and hair that stuck up every which way illustrated the fatigue he felt. Barely lifting his feet off the ground as he walked, he unsteadily removed the previous night’s clothes and crawled into bed before realizing he was being watched.

 Lyla smiled. He smelled of soap and mint. “Good morning,” she teased.

 “You’re half right,” he croaked.

 “Have you had water?”

 He nodded and took her hand in his, which he rested against his chest, “g’night.”

 Lyla watched him fall asleep instantly, then took in his resting face and steady breathing before falling asleep herself.

 The light was a soft yellow when Lyla’s eyes opened once more. Louis was still holding her hand to his chest, though his grip was lighter. He snored softly, his face completely relaxed.

 Lyla glanced at the clock, which read 10. Knowing August would be home soon, she figured it would be a good idea to get dressed and tend to the mess outside her bedroom door.

 After her shower, Lyla slipped into a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie – she didn’t plan on leaving the house anyway. Confirming that Louis was still sound asleep, she tiptoed to her door, opened it, and let herself quietly into the hallway.

 From August’s room, she heard snores. Peeking inside, she saw Nick sitting on the floor, back propped against August’s bed, and head leaning lazily back. He had pulled part of the duvet down and it covered the right side of his torso. She gently closed the door and headed towards the kitchen where she knew most of the mess would be.

 As she walked into the living room, she expected to find much more of a mess than she did. She was surprised to see that Marshall wasn’t where she had left him, and that the blankets she had left out were nowhere to be seen.

 “Mornin',” Marshall’s drink-worn voice sounded from the kitchen.

 “Good morning. I didn’t expect you to be awake yet.”

 He had collected all of the empties on the kitchen table and was now opening and closing cupboard after cupboard. “Ah, I bounce back pretty quick. Where’re your containers?”

 Lyla opened a cupboard next to the fridge and brought out three plastic food containers. “Thank you for tidying up.”

 “Figure the one who makes the mess should clean it,” he said as he divided the leftover pizza slices into the remaining containers. “Sorry ‘bout wakin' you last night. But I’m goin' to take these bottles out and get everyone some breakfast. Any requests?” He began gathering all of the bottles in his arms and between his fingers.

 “That’s really sweet of you, thank you—do you want something to carry those in?”

 “Nah, just get the door for me, darlin', would be good. No requests?”

 Lyla shook her head as she lead him to the door and held it open for him. “Surprise me.”

 Marshall nodded and disappeared down the hall, bottles clinking with every step.

 Returning to the task at hand, Lyla straightened Nick and Louis’ shoes before returning to the kitchen. It wasn’t as big a disaster as she had prepared herself for. Some pizza crumbs and faint rings from the beer bottles, and the chairs haphazardly strewn throughout the kitchen, but otherwise untouched. She quickly wiped down the counter and table, and fixed the chairs before hearing her bedroom door open.

 Louis shuffled down the hallway towards the kitchen, a black tank top and boxer-briefs haphazardly pulled on. His hair was as much a mess in the morning as it had been the night previous. Silently, he slipped into the kitchen chair he had been sitting in the night before and rested his head in a similar manner.

 Wordlessly, Lyla forced a glass of water into his limp hand and kissed his neck before sitting down herself.

 After a moment, he sat up and drank the water, first with a few sips and then a desperate couple of gulps.

 “Better?”

 “No,” Louis muttered. “Gettin’ there though.”

 “Did you at least have fun?”

 He shrugged, “’s a bit of a blur, t’ be honest.” He rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes as if trying to coerce his body to fully wake. “Jesus, I’m gettin' too old for this.”

 “You’re thirty-five. Hardly over-the-hill.”

 He simply continued sipping his water in response before seeming to remember a little bit of the night before. “Marshall and the others. Did they already leave?”

 Lyla shook her head. “It was just Marshall and Nick. Marshall said he was going to get us breakfast; Nick is passed out in August’s room. Speaking of which: August should be home soon. As much as Amanda would probably like to see you in your underwear, you should probably get dressed.”

 He rolled his eyes and stood up, finishing off his water. “You’re paranoid.”

 “You only say that because you like the way she ogles you.”

 “She does not—” He stopped himself and shook his head with a sigh before walking off without another word.

 Lyla chuckled and quickly rinsed his glass when she heard the apartment door open.

 “I’m back,” Marshall’s voice called.

 “That was quick,” Lyla called back, going to the door to offer help.

 “Yeah, just went down the block. Bribed a drifter to help.”

 “I am not a drifter,” a younger voice protested.

 “Of course you aren’t,” Lyla responded as she closed the door behind her son and future brother-in-law. “If anyone’s a drifter, it’s Uncle Marshall.”

 “That’s fine. Say what you will,” Marshall said, setting multiple paper bags on the kitchen table. “I’m a drifter who got the number of a very attractive brunette. Perhaps my plus one for next Saturday.”

 “He got Tyler’s mom’s number,” August explained, digging into the bags and setting the food down.

 “If you take Amanda to my wedding,” Lyla whispered to Marshall, “so help me God, I—”

 “Ah, is Amanda her name then?” Marshall grinned.

 “I’m serious, she’s—”

 “Consider her a one-night stand,” Marshall announced, receiving a loud hush.

 “Not in front of August.”

 “What does that mean?” August asked, all innocence and curiosity.

 “Well—”

 “Marshall,” Lyla warned.

 “What? He’s going to learn much worse from me sooner or later.”

 “I’d prefer later,” Lyla murmured.

 “You heard your mam,” Marshall said, taking a seat next to August and then whispering, “I’ll tell ya later.”

 Lyla shot him a look, taking a seat herself.

Louis returned shortly, dragging a groggy, limping Nick after him. The two greeted the three already sitting and joined them for a much needed greasy breakfast.


	9. June 2008 (2)

Marshall returned to Brooklyn later in the afternoon, the lack of sleep catching up with him. He didn't mind so much though – he was used to late nights and early mornings working as an occasional bartender and full-time warehouse worker. If he wanted any time to himself to play music and meet girls and, now, he figured, see his family, he had to sacrifice sleep. It worked pretty well for him. He rarely worked Saturday and Sunday, only picking up bartender shifts when friends asked him, and working early morning warehouse shifts throughout the week, so he managed to use the weekend as a time to revive himself.

Fridays were almost always performance nights with the occasional Saturday thrown in, depending on the week. The double-header usually left him knackered, using Sunday to nap and be isolated from everyone but the loud neighbours. This was one such weekend.

Friday night's show at Jupiter's was very successful. They had opened up for another New York band that was a great deal more popular than The Connelly Brothers, but that had just meant the procurement of new fans and possibly new opportunities.

Marshall found there were two types of opener performances: those that received polite applause, and those who received genuine hoots and hollers of admiration. He thought that they had received the latter. And maybe it was just his imagination, but The Incubus seemed to be packed with a lot more fans on Saturday compared to past performances there. He wondered if anyone would buy their album if they officially recorded one.

Groggily, he slipped into the shower to wash the previous night's sweat, alcohol and pizza grease from his person. Feeling more refreshed, he slipped on a pair of grey sweats before settling on his studio futon to watch some shit TV.

Half-way through some disaster movie about the end of the world, Marshall's cell, which he had left on his side table, vibrated twice, indicating he had received a text message.

Sliding open his phone, he saw that it was from his friend Maya. Maya was a regular fixture in Marshall's life since he moved from San Francisco to New York permanently a few months back. She was one of the bartenders during a Connelly Brothers performance at The Queen's Head, a small Irish pub in Brooklyn. Maya provided them with drink and crude humour, and Marshall took an immediate liking to her. It was a Friday when they had performed, and, knowing that they would probably avoid performing in smaller spaces in the future, he returned the Saturday night to see her again. He would occasionally fill in for her at the pub or take up extra shifts if the manager, Chuck, requested it. Marshall became part of the Queen's Head family very quickly.

He and Maya would get together for drinks or other outings as well, but it never became a romantic thing. They were both too similar and neither one was looking for someone to live the rest of their lives' with. Marshall knew he would always be the sleep around type – marriage and family was Louis' calling, not his.

But one Saturday night, neither of them had found anyone to go home with, so they decided to head back to Marshall's place together. In bed, they discovered they got on just as well, if not better, than out of bed. Since then, they would occasionally call each other up to either go out or stay in. Usually, this would be in the middle of the night, not on a Sunday afternoon.

The text read, "I'm coming over. You home?"

"Yeah, okay."

Marshall set the phone back on the table and surveyed the room lazily. It wasn't pristine, but it wasn't horrible either. Some unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, empties scattered randomly throughout the kitchen and living space, and the occasional sock. If it were anyone else, he might tidy.

Maya arrived forty minutes later, letting herself into his studio apartment without much ceremony.

"I tried calling you last night," she said in greeting. "Forget your cell?"

"Yeah." Marshall looked back at her. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back in what looked like it might have been a well-done evening look at some point. Her mascara and eyeliner were smudged around her brown eyes, also showing that she hadn't exactly spent the day recovering from the night before. She wore a long dark coat unsuitable for the summer weather, and black stilettos unsuitable for a Sunday afternoon. "Where'd you come from?"

She set her purse down by the door and slowly walked into the living room. "I worked late last night then headed into Manhattan for a party for Chuck's friend's cousin's something. Tried to see if you wanted to come. Did you have a show?"

"Yeah then took my brother out. It's his weddin' next weekend."

"Oh," Maya nodded, undoing the strap of her coat. "Fair enough. I woke up on the couch alone and thought I'd see what you were doing."

"Just recoverin'."

Marshall watched closely as she undid individual buttons silently. Then, with one swift movement, she opened her coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing her nude body. Marshall sat up interested as she stepped towards him, a determined look in her eyes. "Can I help you recover?" She knelt over him on the futon, straddling his hips.

In response, he ran his hands over her body, feeling the soft flawlessness of her skin, and kissed her chest feverishly before she brought his face to meet hers and touched her lips passionately to his.

* * *

 

Marshall and Maya sat naked on the studio's futon with a thin sheet covering them, sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching a Sunday night TV movie with far too many commercials while talking about what had been going on in their lives since they last spoke in person over a month ago.

"I doubt I'll see her. Her son's my nephew's friend. Don't want to mess things up for him."

"Look at you: the family man," Maya teased.

"Yeah, right. D’you want the last bits?" He asked, offering her the last morsels of popcorn.

"It's all yours. I better get going anyway. It'll take me awhile to get home and you've got work, right?"

"Yeah. Right then. I'll see ya," Marshall said, pulling on his sweats as Maya tied up her coat.

"And if you end up wanting a plus one for the wedding after all, let me know. I don't work Saturday."

Marshall nodded as Maya left, and closed the door behind her. Not bothering to clean up, he unfolded the futon so that it became a bed, turned the TV and lights off, and passed out for the night. It was barely 10 o'clock, but he was exhausted and had to be up at 4.

* * *

 When Marshall left work Monday afternoon, it was 5 o'clock. He had earned a couple of hours overtime because a couple of the evening shift workers were late showing up. Being on his feet all day – lifting and moving and shouting – left him exhausted. It didn't help that some of the people he worked with were absolute idiots.

On Mondays, he ran his errands. Groceries, mostly. This time, however, he had to stop to pick up his tux for his brother's wedding. He still couldn't believe that his little brother was about to get married. And to that girl from the rooftop. She had seemed too upper class for his brother – too good for him. Even now, going to their Upper East Side Manhattan apartment, he always felt like she would turn her nose up at him and show him what she really thought. But he was surprised every time. A girl who was raised with money but wanted more than what it could buy her. She was always quick to call him on his bullshit and seemed to have a fierce hidden layer to her that she only brought out when absolutely necessary. And she loved Louis and their son with all her heart. Marshall couldn't deny that they fit perfectly into each other's lives.

He was Louis' best man and was tasked with giving the best man speech. He had planned to say whatever came to his mind instead of writing and rehearsing it, but Lyla had pulled him aside, begging him to write and memorise a speech since the liquor would be flowing and eloquence would most certainly be lost. Marshall flat out refused, feigning offence. But he ultimately decided she knew him too well for his liking and listened to her advice. The speech still lay incomplete, but it was nearly done.

As he returned home, his phone began to buzz in the pocket of his trousers. He fumbled with the groceries, keys, and phone before setting one of the bags down to free a hand.

"Hello?" he answered, fiddling with his keys and trying to open his building door.

"Connelly, it's Frank."

"Frank, how's it goin'?" He unlocked the door and let it swing inwards as he picked up the paper bags he had set down.

"We have an opening this Saturday. It's yours if you want it."

"We'd like that Frank, but it's Louie's weddin' Saturday. Nothin' booked." Marshall trudged up the stairs, bags in both arms, phone resting between his shoulder and ear.

"Some people are going to be there looking to sign some new bands. They specifically requested The Connelly Brothers."

Now that was interesting. The band had imagined what it could be like to join a label, but plans that they started to put in motion a decade prior had fallen through when Louis left, and they never put further thought into going for it when they re-formed. "Ah, Frank, you're killin' me." He reached his apartment door and this time forced his keys into the door effortlessly. "But we can't. Louis’ll probably never have a second weddin'. He's hopeless." Inside the apartment, he set his bags on the counter.

"This opportunity might not come a third time," Frank said. "You guys are good. Always bring me a big crowd. I'd like to help you out if I can."

"Appreciate it, Frank. But, like I said: can't. Hey, if he's so interested, tell him to come down to the reception. We'll probably all be performin' at some point."

"You're inviting a stranger to your brother's wedding. Don't you think the soon-to-be missus might have something to say about that?"

"You just leave her to me and let me know what he says. I'll talk to you later," and he hung up before Frank could say another word.

Before putting his groceries away, Marshall made a call.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, Lyla, it's Marshall. Is Louis around?"

"Yeah just a—"

"No, I want to talk to you. Make sure he doesn't know it's me."

"Lizzy," she whispered to someone who he assumed was Louis. Then he heard her walk and close a door. "Okay, I'm alone."

"So, Frank called me. You know Frank?"

"Yes, I know Frank," she said, sounding a bit exasperated.

"Frank called me, saying that they needed a band Saturday night. I said no, of course, but he said that a guy from some record label requested us specifically and was lookin' to sign some bands."

"Okay…"

"So, I told him that it wasn't possible because of the weddin'. But I suggested that he could come to the reception and see us all play at some point throughout the night. What d’you think?"

There was silence for a moment before Lyla said, "that's wonderful!"

"Yeah?"

"Yes! I know Louis would love to get signed with a label and take the band's music somewhere new."

"Does he?" That surprised him. Louis had never been all that enthusiastic in his eyes. He seemed to enjoy working in an office and leaving the music for the weekends.

"Of course, don't you?"

"Yeah, well I—So if he decides that he'll come, that's alright then?"

"Absolutely. Keep me updated and I'll make sure he has a place front and centre."

"Right. Thanks," Marshall said before hanging up.

* * *

 On Wednesday afternoon, Marshall met up with August and The Connelly Brothers (minus one) in secret for one last practice before Lyla and Louis' wedding. August had composed a new song in honour of his parents' love and in honour of their family. He had asked the band to help out, and had also asked Lizzy to help out along with a cellist friend of Lyla's, as the piece would be incomplete without the cello sound.

The song wasn't an orchestra piece. It was simple: guitar and cello with the melody, and violin, drums, bass, and flute accompanying. But it told a story and – if Marshall were an emotional man – tugged at the heartstrings. The group played effortlessly, following August's guitarist lead. The kid had undeniable talent.

He began to feel nervous, which rarely ever happened. He worried that something would go wrong, the possible mishaps endless. He worried that he'd get too drunk at the rehearsal dinner and make a mess of it all, especially in front of Lyla's dad – a man referred to as a hard-ass by both Louis and Lyla. He worried that he'd create a shitshow out of his speech or do something stupid.

It annoyed him to constantly think about all the ways he'd screw up. He needed a drink and he needed a girl to take his mind off it all.

He arrived at The Queen's Head early in the evening and sat down at the bar, talking with Jeff, one of the other bartenders, drinking a Jeff-recommended ale. Surveying the room, he saw a trio of women in the corner, a couple of empty bottles to each of them. They seemed to be alone, so he sent another round of whatever they were drinking. One of the women – late twenties, nearly as tall as Marshall, and blonde – giggled when Marshall grinned at them; the others smiled politely.

The blonde stood, saying something inaudible over the noise in the pub to her friends, and sauntered over to Marshall.

"Hi," she said shyly. "Thanks for the drinks. We were just about to go somewhere else."

"Ah, it's not a problem, darlin'," Marshall responded, laying his Irish accent on a little thicker than normal. "I saw a pretty girl an' t'ought I'd treat her an' her friends t’ a drink."

"Are you Irish?" she asked, her interest visibly piqued.

"That I am," he nodded, holding out his hand. "Marshall Connelly. 'S a pleasure t’ meet ya."

"Ellie Poole," the woman responded, shaking his hand and grinning.

"Ellie," he murmured. "That's a lovely name. What brings you to The Queen's Head this fine Wednesday evening?"

"My friend, Sam - the one with the curly hair - just got a promotion so we're celebrating. We came here straight after work just down the block. What… brings you here?"

"You, of course," Marshall winked.

She giggled, "why don't you come join us for a few more rounds?"

* * *

 Marshall's alarm echoed against the exposed brick in his studio apartment. He coughed and rolled onto his stomach, reaching the alarm on the coffee table. He sat up on the edge of his futon, rubbing his eyes deeply.

"What time is it?" a woman's voice whispered, unable to speak any louder.

"Four," Marshall groaned. "Gotta go to work. Go back to sleep." Marshall stood and stumbled to the bathroom. He must have had two hours of sleep, tops, and seemed to be running on autopilot. Showered, groomed, and dressed for work, Marshall wrote a note, explaining to Ellie how to lock the door and where to leave the key.

It was his last day of work for the week. He took Friday off to focus on the rehearsal and wedding itself. After food, water, and lots of coffee, Marshall felt somewhat human, though his day was a blur of not talking to anyone and finishing his day to the best of his limited ability.

He left work on time at 1 o'clock and got some greasy fast food before heading home and finding Ellie still sleeping on his futon. He slammed the door loudly and she jolted awake.

"Alright, girly, it's time to go. Rise and shine," he boomed.

She groaned and covered her head with the sheet.

Marshall rolled his eyes. Of course he'd be stuck with a sleeper when all he wanted to do was sleep himself. He ripped the sheet off of her, "you'd better go. My ex is bringin' my son over in half an hour. Awkward situation and all that."

She blinked, frowning, "you have a son?"

"'Course I do. Jack. Now let's go, let's go!"

Anna slowly pulled on her dress from the night before and gathered her belongings before Marshall ushered her out the door without another word.

His apartment was definitely in need of a scrub. It smelled of sweat and sex, along with the faint smell of old food. Feeling a second wind, he used the rush to pick up his laundry, clean the dishes, and quickly sweep up the floors before folding the futon into its couch position, putting on the TV, and effortlessly falling into a sleepy stupor.


	10. July 5, 2008: The Wedding

_July 5, 2008_

Hues of purples, pinks, and blues dotted the stone-walled gardens and proudly drooping trees along the stone pathway. Bumblebees hovered lazily among the fragrant flowers as the sun shone overhead, peaking through the green canopy above. A slight breeze rustled leaves and flowers alike, before giving them a reprieve and letting the warm air envelope them.

A small group of people congregated in a stone clearing, talking in low murmurs with those around them and waiting with anticipation. On one side of the clearing, a woodland fairy tale arch stood valiantly, shaded by cascading wisteria and disguised with hydrangeas, garden roses, and vines of star jasmine. In front of the arch stood a tall man with dark hair and bright eyes that sparkled with hope and joy; his attention was focused beyond the crowd, down the stone path that led to the woman who held his heart.

Next to him stood four men who were talking amongst themselves, having given up on any interaction with the man so entranced by expectation.

To the other side of the arch, slightly away from the crowd and next to a grey fountain displaying the forms of three dancing figures, there was a small string band softly playing soothing instrumentals in preparation for the wedding that would soon occur.

Meanwhile, a woman exited a white horse-drawn carriage, followed by four different women and her son. One of the women with vivid red hair, the maid of honour, worked quickly to fan out the bottom of the bride's gown. The bride wore an ivory dress with lace elegantly detailed from neckline to hem, white beading adding extra splendor to its extravagant simplicity. Her golden-brown hair was fastened with a floral clip that allowed the occasional curl freedom from its hold, and in her hands, she held a bouquet of white and blue wildflowers. On her lips, she wore a wide grin, enthusiastic to finally join in union with the missing part of her soul.

The wedding coordinator, a bubbly woman with blonde hair, muttered something inaudible into her cell phone, and music began playing loudly, the strings singing the familiar and unmistakable sound of a wedding. Beyond the bridge and beyond the trees, Lyla Novacek knew what would be waiting for her, and she sighed wistfully, ready to begin.

Julie, Rochelle, and Erica started down the path first. As Lyla's bridesmaids, they wore stardust-coloured gowns that swept the ground beneath. The elegantly ruched bodices and the sweetheart necklines complemented Lyla's dress perfectly. Lyla's maid of honour, Lizzy, followed the other three women in a dress coloured the same, but with a lace bodice instead of ruched, as if bridging the gap between the bridesmaids and the bride.

Finally, it was Lyla's turn. She felt a sudden wave of apprehension and elation as she was about to finally realize one of the most important dreams of her life. She grasped onto her son, the other realized dream of her life, and used him as an anchor to ground her. "Ready?" she asked, more to herself than to August.

He smiled and nodded. "Ready."

They began their journey down the stone path, the music growing louder with each step. Over the walking bridge, Lyla could see the small crowd smiling back at her. However, she only had eyes for the smile at the end of the path – the man who wore that navy blue tuxedo so well and only had eyes for her. She hated how long it was taking. Had she ever walked so slow in her entire life? She wanted to run to his arms and kiss him, but she controlled herself, tightening her hold on August's arm.

Finally, the painfully long wedding march ended and Lyla found herself face-to-face with her love whose blue eyes that she adored were looking deep into her own. "Hi," she whispered.

He chuckled softly. "Hi."

The couple joined hands and faced towards the arch where their friend, Reverend James, stood, ready to officiate.

"Friends and family of Lyla and Louis: we are gathered here to celebrate the union of two people miraculously brought together by the power of faith and love. For many years, their love has blossomed and changed in so many good ways, and they have now decided to join as one, accompanied by their son, August, and the support of so many wonderful people they are blessed to have in their lives.

"I want to share with you – especially for those who don't know – I want to share with you the story of Louis and Lyla. Don't worry, I have their permission," Reverend James chuckled.

"Twelve years ago (when we were all a little better looking and all a little less wise), Lyla was a young orchestra performer – a very good young orchestra performer – and Louis was a talented young man singing and playing as the front man in his band. They were both accomplished young individuals, but they saw the world differently from everyone else. They could see the magic in the moon and could feel the intensity and raw power of music. They didn't want to just play music, they wanted to live under its command. And for whatever reason, the lives they were living didn't satisfy this desire.

"Perhaps this is why they were so drawn to each other. By chance, they met and by fate, they fell in love. Then they parted ways.

"Now, their influence in each other's lives was a force to be reckoned with. They met each other once and that was it. Music didn't have the same taste afterwards, and when their son August was born and mistakenly put up for adoption, neither of them could bear to play another note. That raw power music had once held had disappeared in a blink of an eye.

"It wasn't until a decade later that they found each other again. Something – call it the magic of the moon or the power of music or the inexplicable and invisible bond that their unknown family shared – something sparked them to play again.

"Now, for those who are very close to the couple, you've probably heard this story enough times to know it by memory, but I just love it, so you'll have to bear with me. I apologize in advance," he joked. "But it was the magic and the spark that led all three of them to be in the same spot in the same city on the same day at the same time.

"A little over a year ago, Central Park and Juilliard held their 2007 Concert in the Park. Lyla, feeling the draw to play like she did, was the featured cellist of Edward Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Minor – the second to last performance of the evening. In that same concert, unbeknownst to her, her long-lost son was debuting a piece he had composed called August's Rhapsody. And, as fate would have it, Louis would be leaving his own concert, only to see Lyla's name on one of Concert in the Park banners. For all three of them to be together in such a miraculous way is the ultimate proof of a higher power, be that music or fate or God.

"By the end of August's beautiful rhapsody, Lyla and Louis had seen each other for the first time in eleven years, and August had seen his parents for the first time in his life.

"Lyla Novacek and Louis Connelly have been with each other for just over a year – not a long time – but their souls have been entwined and connected for so much longer. And it is for this reason that I ask each and every one of you to bless and celebrate this union with everything you've got.

"Now, with the power of music in mind, I believe some of Louis and Lyla's friends and family have been working on a little something to honour the both of them and their love."

Lyla and Louis, though smiling, exchanged glances, completely unsure of what to expect.

Marshall patted Louis on the back, "why don't you two take a seat right there?"

"Marshall—" Louis started, cut off by a wave of Marshall's hand.

In front of the couple, chairs were quickly set up and occupied by August, Lizzy, and Erica, with The Connelly Brothers (minus one singer-guitarist) standing behind the trio with their own instruments.

Lyla held tightly onto Louis' hand, not sure she would be able to keep it together. Louis squeezed her hand back, which comforted her a bit.

August counted the ensemble in, the double-bass and guitar starting slowly, joined in by the cello and flute, creating a fighting melody that harmonized perfectly. Shortly, the bodhrán, keyboard and violin joined in, quickening the tempo and creating an invigorating sound. On the ensemble played, alternating key changes and time signatures as quickly as they could be recognized. It was a complicated piece and this made it very beautiful, and Lyla couldn't help as her eyes filled up with tears. Louis took notice and kissed her cheek. She leaned her head on his shoulder with a smile and sniffle.

Slowly, each instrument stopped playing, one by one, until only August remained, his guitar bringing the piece to a soft and sweet end.

The congregation began applauding immediately; Lyla and Louis joined them, giving the ensemble a standing and enthusiastic ovation. Lyla urged August over to her and embraced him. "Thank you," she whispered. Louis patted August on his back as Lyla released her son, "that was brilliant. Thank you, man."

"That was just a taste of the talent in this family," Reverend James continued, taking his place back under the arch as the others replaced the chairs and went to their own positions. "That was a piece written by August called 'Louis and Lyla' and, Louis and Lyla, that was your son's wedding gift to you. Good luck to anyone who tries to top that." The crowd laughed along with Louis and Lyla who composed themselves and stood back on either side of the Reverend.

"This love... it's a harmony that this couple has been creating for well over a decade, even if we don't quite understand the magic behind it. The enthusiasm these two share is contagious; their certainty of their destiny together is inspiring, and their great expectations give each and every one of us a glimpse of the heights love can reach.

 "Like the harmony with the melody, marriage weaves two lives together, creating a richer and deeper song. We are honoured to have Louis and Lyla share with us their enchanting music today. We ask that the vision they have of one another always reflect the electric attraction that first brought them together. And we hope and we pray that, as they enter into the lifelong bond that is marriage, they may always see one another in the light of all light: the light of love.

"The couple has decided to write their own vows and share them with one another in the sight of all those close to them."

Louis spoke first, his eyes boring into Lyla's and his heart vibrating in his chest, swelling with adoration for his very-soon-to-be wife. "Lyla," he began. "The night I met you changed my life. When I was a boy, I'd talk to the moon and dream of the possibilities life had in store for me. Everyone called me a dreamer. They still do. But I could never have dreamt – not in a million years – that I would be so lucky to earn the heart and soul of a woman so beautiful and talented and kind. I promise that, no matter what obstacles come our way, or what successes we both experience, I will love you, I will support you, and I will worship you with every fibre of my being until the end of time."

Tears flowed freely down Lyla's face as she tried in vain to keep herself looking presentable. "This is unfair," she muttered through tears and laughter, various congregation members sharing in both. She cleared her throat and began, sniffling all the way. "Louis, before I met you, I was lost. Your fearlessness and soulful goodness drew me in and made me feel seen. You changed my life. And being with you this past year has opened doors and windows I never would have known existed were you not in my life. Whatever the future may hold, I promise to show you kindness, understanding, and, above all else, uncompromising love."

"So," Reverend James spoke after a short reverent pause. "Louis Michael Connelly, do you take Lyla to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

"I do," Louis stated, squeezing Lyla's hand.

"And do you," the Reverend continued, "Lyla Ann Novacek, take Louis to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," Lyla repeated almost before Reverend James had a chance to complete the question.

"Can I have the rings please?"

Marshall stepped forward, giving the rings to Reverend James.

"Wedding rings are an unbroken symbol of love, signifying one another's unending love for one another." He placed a ring in Louis' hand. "Louis, repeat after me: Lyla, this ring is my sacred gift-"

"Lyla, this ring is my sacred gift-"

"-with my promise that I will always love you, cherish you, and honour you all the days of my life-"

"-with my promise that I will always love you, cherish you, and honour you all the days of my life-"

"And with this ring, I thee wed."

"And with this ring, I thee wed." Gently, Louis slipped the simple silver band onto Lyla's trembling finger.

Reverend James placed the other ring in Lyla's hand. "Lyla, repeat after me: Louis, this ring is my sacred gift-"

"Louis, this ring is my sacred gift-"

"-with my promise that I will always love you, cherish you, and honour you all the days of my life-"

"-with my promise that I will always love you, cherish you, and honour you all the days of my life-"

"And with this ring, I thee wed."

"And with this ring, I thee wed." Lyla eagerly slipped the ring onto Louis' hand, and they held each other tightly.

"By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Lyla and Louis hardly waited for the Reverend to finish his sentence before grasping one another in a passionately charged kiss as husband and wife. Their friends and family laughed and cheered at the eagerness of the two.

As they broke apart, soft guitar and strings could be heard, courtesy of their son and the string ensemble; the instrumental introduction was followed by the angelic voice of August's friend, Hope.

_When the rain is blowing in your face_

_And the whole world is on your case,_

_I could offer you a warm embrace_

_To make you feel my love._

Louis and Lyla, led by Reverend James and followed by Marshall and Lizzy, made their way towards the fountain where they would sign their marriage license in private.

_When the evening shadows and the stars appear_

_And there is no one there to dry your tears,_

_Oh, I could hold you for a million years_

_To make you feel my love._

Lyla and Louis eagerly took turns signing the document, the Reverend joking with them while Lizzy and Marshall acted as witnesses to their union.

_I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue_

_And I'd go crawling down the avenue;_

_No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do_

_To make you feel my love._

Both Marshall and Lizzy signed the license in turn, congratulating the couple, Lizzy a near-sobbing mess and Marshall uncharacteristically stoic.

_The storms are raging on the rolling sea_

_And on the highway of regret;_

_The winds of change are blowing wild and free_

_You ain't seen nothing like me yet._

Lizzy hugged Lyla enthusiastically, "I'm so happy for you. It was so beautiful! You deserve every happiness."

"Louie, man, congrats," Marshall said, briefly hugging his brother. "Real nice ceremony."

_I could make you happy,_

_Make your dreams come true -_

_There's nothing that I wouldn't do._

_Go to the ends of this Earth for you_

_To make you feel my love._

_To make you feel my love._

As the last notes sounded, Reverend James re-entered the small clearing to speak before the congregation once more: "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the sincerest privilege in presenting to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Connelly."

Louis and Lyla entered the clearing, tightly holding hands and grinning from ear-to-ear in response to the cheers and applause. Lizzy and Marshall followed them out, the latter adding rowdy hoots to the cacophony.

The string ensemble started up again to play the guests out of the clearing while the wedding party freshened themselves up for photographs in and around the magical garden. Perfectly, the delicately coloured flowers complemented the whites and blues in the gowns and tuxedos of the party. Shining rays of sun illuminated the couple and their loved ones in just the right ways.

* * *

 With the photographs complete, they made their way to the end of the path where three horse-drawn carriages waited to carry the party to the Loeb Boathouse where the reception would be held.

Louis and Lyla climbed into the first carriage alone as newlyweds while the bridesmaids took the second and the groomsmen, along with August, took the final one. As they road, Lyla couldn't help but feel like royalty as people they didn't know cheered them on with applause and shouts of "congratulations!"

Lyla kissed Louis as they neared the Boathouse. "Congratulations, husband."

Louis grinned, "and to you, wife."


	11. July 5, 2008: The Reception

**Marshall**

Marshall took his place in the centre of the dance floor, microphone in hand.

“If you don’t know me, name’s Marshall. I’m Louis’ older and handsomer brother,” Marshall began, his Irish accent thicker than when sober. He rose his glass towards Louis and Lyla. “Most of you won’t know that I pretty well raised Louis-“

“Come off it,” Louis shouted, to the delight of the guests.

“Ignore my baby bro. It’s true. Our da left when he was just a wee lad-“

“Of fifteen,” Louis interrupted again.

“Are you makin’ the speech, Lou, or am I? August, take away his drink for me. I think he’s had enough.” The guests and wedding party laughed and applauded as August dramatically moved his dad’s glass out of reach. “Anyway,” Marshall cleared his throat, grinning, “Louie was a wee lad when da left so it was up to me t’ teach him the ways o’ the world. And I did. I taught him the t’ree most important lessons a young man could ever learn. Number one: you’ve got to work hard. Now, for the most part, my baby bro is pretty smart – it’s the only time I’ll say that Lou, so cherish it. When da left, I went to work to pay the bills. Louis wanted to help o’ course, but I forced him to stay at school and go on to higher education like the responsible young man I was. I mean, you’ve got to work with the talents you have, and a manual labourer, he is not.

“When we came t’ America, we were playin’ a lot of terrible places around San Francisco on the weekends, but he continued studying for his business degree while I continued working. More or less, I’d say Louie listened to that first lesson pretty well and has had some success because of it. The other two lessons, though… they didn’t quite sink in.

“The second lesson I taught him was how a man should hold his drink. Just take a look at him now to see how well he’s done there.”

Louis made a crude gesture, causing Marshall to loudly guffaw into the mic.

“See?” he shouted, “there’s no controllin’ him now! If this isn’t enough proof, how ‘bout our first American gig where he went home with a woman nearly three times his age? He called me the next morning ‘cause he didn’t know where in the city he was!”

The crowd roared. Lyla had a wide grin on her face as she watched Louis rub his hands over his reddening face, embarrassed.

“Or when he had his very first night out at the ripe age of – sorry, Lyla – twelve? Don’t follow your da’s example, nephew. I was fifteen and goin’ out with the lads. Decided to let Lou tag along. He had sips of beer here or there, but never anything t’ himself. Let me tell you, one beer in and he was seein’ double. By his third (and final) beer, he was shrieking like a banshee t’rough the streets, which caught the attention of a couple o’ friendly Gardai who promptly reprimanded him and took him home.”

“Yeah, while you and your friends hid!” Louis shouted once more.

“Ah, well, bygones, yeah? He never quite learned to hold his drink and he’s still a lightweight. Lesson not learned.

“But the last one is perhaps the worst of all. The most important lesson I tried to teach him was how to treat a woman.” He glanced to the table where Lyla had her eyebrows raised, clearly skeptical. “Lyla, darling, you ask any girl I’ve been wit’ if I ever mistreated them. I’m a saint. On my life,” he smirked. “Louis’ first girlfriend was this nice Irish girl named something-or-other that he got when he was somethin’ like fourteen. Knowin’ how wise and worldly I was, he asked me for advice about this girl. And I told him very nicely and very clearly… to dump her. Now, it’s only because there were so many other girls interested in him for some reason. He could have had his pick of any girl! The thought of being wit’ one girl… I could never understand it. The boy ended up being with the girl for, what, six months? Decades in teenage years. Whenever he was interested in a girl, he’d put in so much effort just to make her feel special. Never looked for the one-night stands – except for those with 56-year-old cougars, of course – and got his heart broken every time.

“But not so bad as when he met our Mrs. Connelly here. Louie met Lyla at a party – really outside of a party because neither of them were fun ten years ago. Perfect match, right there. He met this girl ONCE and was completely ruined. Months later, she was still on his mind, torturing him as women do. He ended up quitting music, for Christ’s sake! Even ten years later, he was still thinkin’ about her. I remember one night when I found out just how much he was thinkin’ about her. I found out he quit his job earlier in the day. Part of me was glad because he was going to be focusing on his music again, but the other part of me wanted to strangle him. Y’know why? He decided that he’d fly to Chicago to get in contact wit’ her again. A girl he only met once. Over ten years ago. I don’t know about all of you, but that has to be the definition of insane, right?

“I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t budge. He’s more optimistic than he’s got any right t’ be. I still remember what he said. He said: ‘what if she needs me?’” Marshall threw his hands up in the air, “what if she needed him?! A woman – I’ll say it again – who he met ONCE a DECADE before!” Marshall sipped from his glass and shook his head.

“When I officially met Lyla, I had my doubts. Look at the girl – beautiful and talented and classy… three things the Connelly clan is not. It had to be some sort of cruel trick, right? I liked her well enough, but kept thinking that she’d soon show her true colours. And she did. Only, t’wasn’t what I t’ought it’d be. She showed that she was strong, could keep up wit’ our Irish charm, and was unwaveringly kind t’ everyone around her. A wonderful woman t’rough and t’rough.

“Lyla, if Louis had to ignore my lessons for anyone, I’m happy it was for you, and I wish the both of you a long and happy albeit monogamous life. Sláinte!” He held his glass up, receiving a chorus of sláintes from the Irish attendees in return, before tipping the contents of his glass into his mouth and passing off the microphone to the maid of honour. 

* * *

 

**Lizzy**

As Marshall ended his speech, Lizzy stood from her seat and made her way to the dance floor, a glass of red wine in hand. Her legs felt a bit like rubber from drink as she stood in the centre of the floor. “Well, Lyla, we’ve got a nice insight into what your life will be like as a Connelly,” she said as the applause died down. “Good luck,” she said sarcastically, raising her glass to the long table. Marshall raised his own in good-humour and nodded his head

“As many of you know, my name is Lizzy. I’m Lyla’s oldest and closest friend from our Juilliard days. Lyla and I began attending Juilliard when we were sixteen, she as a cellist and myself as a flautist. Really, if you’ve ever seen or heard Lyla play, you’ll know that she was running musical circles around all of us.

“The day we officially met, I knew we’d be best friends. Lyla has this personality that just draws people to her. She’s not very loud and she’s not very brash, but she seems to know you and what you need as soon as she sees you. She doesn’t even have to talk with you for her to know what you’re missing.

“I had never spoken to her – she didn’t speak to too many people in the same way I did. Playing completely different instruments, we didn’t have too many classes together, but we did have Orchestra together.

“We had Orchestra at 7:30 every morning in our first year. I would always have to take the bus to school, so was at the bus schedule’s mercy and ended up arriving by about 7 each morning. I am not a morning person at all, so you can imagine the struggles I had to face. I wasn’t the only one there at 7 though – I wasn’t even the first one to arrive. There were about a dozen of us who’d be settling in and warming up. I was pretty close friends with most of the woodwinds – we were a cliquey bunch – so I’d talk with those who were there and pretty much ignored what was going on around me.

“There was one week that was really tough on me. My grandma had died the week before and I had missed the previous Friday to attend the funeral. I was given music on Monday that they had spent the entire ninety-minute session on Friday learning, and were then expected to perfect it for Thursday mostly on our own time. That night before, my father was admitted to the hospital due to a stroke. I spent all night at the hospital with barely any sleep but still arrived on time for class the next day, keeping to myself instead of being my usual bordering-on-obnoxious self.

“Throughout class, the instructor called me out numerous times – I was falling behind, hitting wrong notes, and coming in too late or too early constantly. He then stopped the entire class and demanded that I perform the piece from Friday to see how much work I was putting into this class. I tried to explain the situation, but reasonable man as he was, he would interrupt and demand that I play. So I did. I managed alright, but it was a difficult piece that I hadn’t really had a chance to even read through. Dude flipped out and told me to get out, and that I had better show massive improvement in the next class or he’d be kicking me out.

“Anyway, I promise I’m not just telling a story about myself for the sake of it. But you need the context. I went to the hospital after my classes were done for the day to spend an hour with my dad before going home and practicing for the rest of the night. I remember not getting to sleep until 3 or 4 the next morning after I felt that I had more or less mastered the piece enough to satisfy the prick.

“Per usual, I arrived at about 7. But instead of going to warm up, I sat down at one of the cafeteria tables. I needed quiet time. I ended up falling asleep when I was woken up by the sound of a metal chair on the cafeteria floor. I panicked for a moment, but it had only been ten minutes. In front of me on the table was a giant cup of coffee and a box of donuts. To my right was the quiet cellist who I had never once even bothered to speak to.

“She asked me if I was alright and listened as I vomited up all of my problems for the next twenty minutes while scarfing down donuts and gulping black coffee. She did a make up check for me and gave me selflessly provided tissues, as well as a bit of a pep talk as we entered Orchestra, which was about as painful as was to be expected.

“The next day, she asked me how my father was and the day after that, we had breakfast together at 7. And for the rest of the year, we did the same. From that week up until now, I have been blessed with the friendship of one of the most caring people in the world who has always deserved the greatest happiness.

“I didn’t officially meet Louis until last summer, but I had seen Lyla the morning after they met and I can honestly say I had never seen her so happy. She was radiating joy, even if it was only for a short moment. When she told me that they had reunited this past summer, I was at a loss for words for once in my life. Their story is a fairy tale, simply put. Louis, I’m happy to have you in our lives for all the love and joy you bring Lyla. Lyla, you deserve every good thing that happens to you and my wish is for the universe to continue blessing you with only the good stuff. Congratulations to both of you!” 

* * *

 

**Louis**

With all of the traditional stuff – the cake-cutting, the toasts, the thank-yous, the rounds – complete, it was about time to open the floor for drinks and dancing for the rest of the night.

Feeling drunk on both happiness and the harder stuff, Louis took the mic and spoke. “Before we open the floor for more dancing,” he said, “I’ve got a bit of a gift for Lyla.” In through the door, wait staff rolled in a full set of instruments and amps while everyone else applauded. “Can I get The Connelly Brothers t’ join me?”

Marshall and the rest of the band made their way through the crowd, appearing a little wary.

“Don’t worry, it’s not very complicated,” Louis assured them as they set up their instruments. “Now,” he spoke to the guests, “we’re a family that tends to express ourselves through music. For those not at the ceremony, August composed a piece for Lyla and me, and roped our friends into playin’ it. He gets the organization from his mam. I’m more of a ‘wing it and hope for the best’ kind of guy. So, sorry if this ends up being complete rubbish. I’ll start it, lads. Jump in when you catch on, yeah?”

Louis began strumming a few notes on his acoustic, setting a slow tempo.

_Once I walked a lonely road._

_I had no one to share my love._

_But then you came and showed the way_

_And now I know you're here to stay._

He increased the tempo ever so slightly, inviting Steve to join in on drums. Lightly, he added a snare beat to Louis’ bright melody. Marshall rounded out the song’s rhythm with a simple bass line, complementing the snare perfectly.

_Lonely days of uncertainty -_

_They disappear when you're near me._

_When you're around, my life's worthwhile;_

_I can’t help but long to see you smile._

Louis changed the key and increased the tempo again, prompting Brian and Nick to follow suit with violin and rhythm, all five of them creating a beautiful mash-up of spontaneity.

_You give me light,_

_You are my day,_

_You give me life._

_And that's right._

_You give me light,_

_You are my day,_

_You give me life,_

_And that's right._

_So right._

_So right, so right._

The Connelly Brothers played, listening to each other closely and adding individual flair. As they reached the final repetition of the chorus, Louis held up his hand, silencing the men so that he could finish with the soft acoustic he started with.

The guests applauded as Lyla made her way towards Louis and held him in a long embrace.

“It was magnificent,” she whispered in his ear before kissing him.

Marshall began to play a random series of fast-paced notes on his bass, followed by Steve, Nick, and Brian. Unable to help it, Louis joined in as well, prompting others with musical proclivity to share their own talents. The staff at the Boathouse provided an extra guitar for August and a cello for Lyla, both from the ceremony performances. Lizzy joined in with her flute while others used their voices or hands as instruments. It was a chaotic combination of sound that somehow seemed to work well as single entity.

By the end of the session, guests and musicians alike were in high spirits. The DJ followed their music with an upbeat dance track, which prompted the guests and wedding party to remain on the dance floor to celebrate, while the staff removed the instruments from harm’s way.

* * *

 

**Lyla**

After a few songs, Louis and Lyla left the dance floor behind and made their way to a bench overlooking the water, which was glowing by the light of Boathouse, a sliver of the moon visible overhead.

They sat in silence, Lyla’s head resting on Louis’ shoulder, a smile that certainly felt permanent etched onto her face while her eyelids drooped lazily. Bass and the singing voices of the remaining guests bounced through the air, but Lyla could feel herself drifting off, exhausted from an early morning and long, eventful day.

She began to see images of the day replaying in her mind – the smile on Louis’ face as he saw her, the song that her son wrote for his parents, Louis’ vows to her, the song that he wrote for her. After years of unhappiness, she thought she absolutely deserved to feel the indescribable and immeasurable jubilation that coursed through her veins as she sat next to her husband.

“Lyla.”

The voice startled both Lyla and Louis awake from their light and unintentional sleeps.

“Dad,” she said, masking a yawn. Lyla stood to meet him, followed by Louis who did the same.

“I’m going to be heading off right away and wanted to give you this.” He handed her a rectangular envelope. “It’s my wedding gift to you.” He glanced at Louis, “both of you. I’ve sold the house—”

“What? Why?” Lyla interrupted, feeling a small pang of loss at the childhood house she hadn’t lived in for a very long time.

“I’ve bought a place in Rochester. This cheque is just a small portion of what I got for the Chicago house. I want to be a little bit closer to you and August. I’d like us – all of us – to be closer to each other. If you’re willing.”

“We’d like that a lot,” Louis responded, seeming to catch Lyla’s dad slightly off guard.

“Thank you, dad,” Lyla said, hugging him. “We’ll see you when we get back from our honeymoon.”

Thomas nodded, quickly shook Louis’ hand, and promptly left the reception.

“I think he’s starting to warm up to you,” Lyla whispered as her father disappeared into the crowd.

“Only because he wants to get to know his grandson, but I’ll take what I can get.” Louis yawned, “it’s almost time for us to go too.”

“Yeah,” Lyla said, copying his yawn with another of her own. “Can you put this in your coat?” She handed him the envelope, which he put in the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket.

“C’mon, let’s go say our goodbyes.”

The newlyweds entered the dance area once more, getting the attention of Lizzy and Marshall, who promptly got the DJ to stop the music and announce the couple’s departure. Remaining guests formed long lines on either side of the path that lead to the car waiting for them. They said goodbye to their guests before taking time to say their goodbyes to Lizzy and Marshall, who would be taking care of everything once they left. Finally, they said goodbye to August together. It would be their first trip as a couple and their first trip away from their son. They tried not to be too overbearing or worried about Marshall’s influence over the next month.

“We’ll try to call you every day and especially when we get to a new country. If you ever feel like you need us to come home, we will,” Lyla said quickly.

“You’ll be okay. I think your mam is worried enough for all of us, yeah? You have fun with your uncle.”

“But not too much fun,” Lyla warned, receiving a look from Louis.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll make sure Uncle Marshall doesn’t get me into any trouble.”

Louis and Lyla laughed. “Good,” she said, kissing him on the forehead before pulling her son in for a hug. Louis hugged his son as well, patting him on the back, and then they were off with a chorus of cheers from the wedding guests bidding them goodbye.


	12. July 2008

Louis put the rental car into park outside of the Bed and Breakfast he and Lyla would be staying at for the next couple of nights. They had arrived in Dublin a few days prior and had travelled immediately to Galway.

They traversed through the small city, taking in the historical buildings and lively people before touring the countryside full of fluffy cows and bleating sheep. Fairy trees and stone walls, old churches and ghost stories, glorious flora and seven-hundred-foot cliffs; the area was astounding, rich with culture, natural beauty, and history. Although they had island hopped in Spain and hiked through the highlands of Scotland, Lyla liked Galway (and Ireland as a whole) best. Maybe it was because of the elegance of the land, and maybe it was because it was a part of her husband, but she couldn’t have imagined a better place to end their month of honeymooning.

Their last stop before flying home was Cork, Louis’ birthplace. They would spend time exploring the area and revisiting some of Louis’ old memories. It was largely Lyla’s idea – she wanted to know everything about him – but Louis was happy to see his old home as well.

Lyla propped her backpack on a chair, the pouring rain outside having soaked it through in the minute it took to run from the car to the B&B. Her curly hair had been reacting negatively to the humidity in Ireland, as different that it was compared to home and the other places they had visited, and was plagued with frizz and flyaways. She slipped off her raincoat and hung it on the back of the vanity chair before falling backwards onto the bed. It had been raining nearly nonstop since they arrived in Ireland. She knew that it had a rainy reputation, but had hoped for much better, especially after more than three weeks of travel.

“It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow,” Louis said, copying Lyla with his own bag and coat, their shared suitcase standing and dripping by the bedroom door.

“I don’t believe you,” Lyla responded, eyes closed.

Louis laid down next to her and took hold of her hand, “is it a mystery why me and Marshall moved to San Francisco?”

Lyla shook her head and then spoke after a moment. “What do you want to do for dinner tonight?”

“I’m thinking we stay in and maybe order a little take away, and see what’s on TV. What do you think?”

Lyla’s eyes brightened, “yes please.” She leaned over to Louis and kissed him lightly. “But first,” she stood up and began unbuttoning her blouse, suggestive, “we should get out of these wet clothes.”

Louis sat up and followed suit, “of course.” He began removing his boots, but kept his eyes on Lyla. She was all beauty and joy and grace, and he couldn’t help but take her in, especially in moments like this. He knew she only did it for him because he enjoyed seeing her that way. Confident and seductive.

“You know,” she said, leaning over to unzip her boots. “If you don’t remove more than your shoes, this is going to be difficult.”

“Ah, but you’ll help won’t you?”

She kicked off her boots and unbuttoned her jeans, which she pushed to the floor and stepped out of. “It would be my pleasure.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly before running her hands down his back. Grasping the hem of his shirt, she pulled the garment over his head, revealing his bare chest. The sun in Spain hadn’t favoured his fair skin, but the burn had almost complete dissipated. Slowly, Lyla traced the soft outlines of the muscles in his chest and stomach, kissing his neck as she did.

Lyla knew exactly the things that would drive Louis crazy, like the slow and soft kisses she placed upon his neck and chest, keeping him at a close distance. And Louis knew about Lyla too. He pushed her back so that he could stand and remove his own jeans, and then pulled her close to his body, caressing her in a lustful embrace of exploring hands and searching lips. He unclasped her bra and let it fall carelessly to the floor. They then urged each other to the bed and got lost in one another’s love.

* * *

 

“Christ, I love you,” Louis said from the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Lyla re-emerged from the en suite, a smile stretched across her lips. She took her place beside him on the bed and draped her arm over his chest, their naked bodies entwined as one. “I love you too,” she whispered.

“But do y’know what’ll make this even better?” he asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Chinese food?”

Louis laughed at their shared mindset, “yeah. I saw a Chinese place when we were coming in.”

“That’s exactly why I want Chinese. Sweet and sour chicken, spring rolls, chicken lo mein, and even though it’s not Chinese, chicken satay.”

“Y’know, other meats besides chicken exist.”

“Why mess with a perfectly good thing?”

“Well, you’re right enough.” Louis stretched his arms above him. “I’ll get dressed and go down. I’ll make sure to get all the chicken that you can handle.”

“Thank you,” she said, blowing him a kiss as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Most of their trip had been spent eating out late and staying out later. But now that they neared the end of their romantic foray, they found it a lot more difficult to will themselves out of their hotel past nine o’clock. It was nice to re-energize and simply be alone in each other’s company watching crappy TV and eating mediocre Chinese.

The next day, Louis took Lyla to visit his old childhood spots, most of which were around an area called Knocknaheeny where Louis’ home had been. Lyla thought parts of it looked a little rough, especially compared to her own childhood spots, but it was near the river and had a unique radiance among the scattered snapshots of squalor.

They pulled up in front of a set of rowhouses and Louis put the car in park. “See those kids?” There were four boys about August’s age sitting in front of one of the homes, talking and laughing on their bikes, cigarettes in hand. “That house used t’ be mine and Marshall’s ‘til we left. I lived there my whole life ‘til then.” It had the same layout as the other houses – bay window on the right, security door on the left, narrow – but it lacked the charm of the homes it was sandwiched between. The others were brightly coloured in pinks and blues and yellows, while Louis’ home was plain white stucco with pieces missing, revealing the grey concrete beneath. “Charming, isn’t it?” He joked. “And those kids are how me and Marshall were at that age. Maybe a little more liquor though.”

“Why so young?”

“Just somethin’ to do, I suppose. We were of the ‘everyone else is doing it, so we should too’ mindset. A big part o’the culture here I think. ‘Specially on summer break.” He put the car in gear and drove down the road, leaving his memories behind.

They drove into town while Louis pointed out different landmarks and told animated stories about the trouble he got into as a boy before pulling up in front of a brick building with a lot of aged character. “Fancy a pint?” he smirked. “Me and Marshall used t’ play here. They always had the best fish and chips. You hungry?”

Lyla nodded, her fascination at his personal history failing to waver even a bit. “I’m starving.”

Inside, the pub lights were dim and the bar was largely crowded by loud men in their fifties or older, already drunk in the early evening hours. The air was thick, the smell of beer hanging heavily. Louis led Lyla to a table away from the crowd of men and in front of a small empty stage. “Marshall and I would perform here a few times a week for a bit of money. Take it all in,” he joked. “I’ll get us a menu and some drinks.”

“Make it something good,” she called after him.

He grinned and waved her away.

Lyla surveyed the pub as she waited. It looked old with wooden beams exposed above and against the painted-brick walls, a fireplace on the opposite end of the room, and a mishmash of décor with no particular theme in mind. The uneven stone and wood floor added charm and safety hazards for its patrons.

There were a lot of people and she imagined it would get more crowded as the Friday end-of-work crowd began to push in. Some people like herself and Louis were sitting at the outskirts of the room, enjoying a good pub meal or a drink – they were most likely tourists as well – while the regular locals seemed drawn into the centre. They were all laughing and red in the face, speaking with the Cork dialect that Lyla had quickly begun to realize was almost an entirely different language.

More or less, they all looked the same – greying hair, a bloated face, a beer belly, and the weathered look of smokers. The pub certainly drew a type. However, there was one man that stood out. A middle aged woman with a bulldog face and bleach blonde hair stood next to him, her arm wrapped in his as they both laughed at some sort of joke that had clearly been made. His mood, though, changed as Louis returned to Lyla, beers in hand. His eyes followed Louis and his brows furrowed as if trying to solve some sort of mystery. Lyla saw something familiar about him, but she couldn’t figure out where she had seen him before.

“That man,” Lyla said before Louis could speak. “Where have we seen him before?”

Louis swiveled in his chair to see where Lyla was looking; she saw his jaw clench and eyes go cold as he and the man stared at one another. After a moment, Louis turned back to face Lyla and took a sip of his beer. “You haven’t seen him before.”

“He looks so familiar.”

Louis nodded and sighed. “You’re thinking of Marshall.”

“Marshall?” With the image of Marshall in her mind, she knew he was right. The narrow face, defined chin and jaw, and the eyes were near matches to Marshall’s, though this man’s features were swallowed by somehow poorer lifestyle choices. “Is that--?”

Louis nodded, “our da.”

They sat in silence, Lyla trying to look at the man while not wanting to be rude. When Lyla went to catch another glimpse of him, she saw that he had gone but the woman was still there.

“Let’s go get dinner somewhere else,” Louis said, having finished his pint before Lyla even started hers.

“Don’t you want to… see him? Talk to him?”

“Absolutely not.” He stood up and waited a beat for Lyla to follow suit, which she did with some hesitation.

Lyla glanced once more to the throng of people before they exited the pub in search of food elsewhere. Louis had continued on while Lyla scanned the faces, but when she followed a moment later, she nearly ran into her husband who stood still and sturdy.

“Louis,” a grizzled, thickly-Irish voice wheezed.

Louis stood silently, either at a loss for words or not trusting himself to speak.

“Louis, son,” the man pleaded. “Where did y’ go? I tried findin’ you. Where did y’ n’ Marshall go?”

Still, Louis remained silent. He could feel rage lost to his teenage years bubbling inside him and didn’t want to show his hand.

“Son, I’m sorry. I—” he glanced at Lyla who could feel the electric barrier coursing between the two men. “Y’his girl?”

Lyla glanced sideways at Louis, trying to gauge his reaction but was only met with stone. Cautiously, she held out her hand. “Yes, I’m Lyla.”

“Pretty name. Yer American?” He shook her hand, seemingly out of obligation rather than desire.

“Yes, I—”

“What d’you want, da?”

The man didn’t respond immediately, but seemed to be thinking. “I want t’ talk, Lou.”

“There isn’t anything to say.”

“I appreciate yer angry an’ y’ve got t’ right, but there’s a lot needs sayin’. Will y’ be in town t’m’rrow? Can we meet here, noon? I’ve somewhere I got t’ be right now.”

“Guess you’ll find out,” Louis murmured before walking off, leaving Lyla behind.

“We’ll come,” she whispered before following Louis a distance behind.

Louis sat in their rental car, waiting for Lyla to catch up. He was fuming with past memories of abandonment and fear. He and Marshall somehow managed, but Louis had been so angry. Not just because the man abandoned them without so much as a word, but because Marshall had been forced into a life that he could’ve avoided. Maybe that was why Marshall decided they’d emigrate to America; he must’ve known where his life would’ve been headed if they remained in Cork. Surely, Marshall had wanted more from life.

As soon as Lyla was buckled in, he put the car into gear and began driving back to the Bed and Breakfast.

“Louis,” Lyla started, cautiously.

“What?” he asked, a little more harshly than intended.

“Can we get something to eat before we go back?”

“Right. Sorry.”

He turned the car and headed back towards city centre. No longer in the mood for a nice sit-down dinner, they ordered some greasy McDonald’s and brought it back to their room.

Lyla was unsure about how to breach the topic. She knew Louis would rather do almost anything other than see his father again, based solely on the surprise meeting at the pub, but she thought that it was important to move past it and begin healing. The man seemed like he wanted to repent and make things right. Would talking to his father help Louis mend any broken pieces that he still felt like he had?

As the TV switched from content to a commercial break, Lyla decided the only way forward was to be honest.

“I think you should meet him tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” he responded dryly.

“I know that you don’t like him and I know that he abandoned you. It makes sense that you’d be upset. But… I think you need to talk to him to start healing.”

Louis scoffed and shook his head, “I’m healed enough.”

“He wouldn’t be able to get under your skin if you were.”

“Leave it alone, Lyla.” He busied himself, cleaning up the takeaway mess and ripping Lyla’s burger wrapper from her hand.

“I won’t. I’m your wife and I love you. And I don’t like seeing you like this,” she ended softly.

“Well, you can stop bringin’ it up and then won’t have to see me like this.” He threw the paper McDonald’s bag into the bin. “I’m going to take a shower.” He firmly closed the bathroom door behind him and locked it.

Lyla felt tears pricking at her eyes, not just because they had never really had any sort of real argument before, but also because she knew that Louis was hurting and there wasn’t really anything she could do about it. She didn’t want to drop it because she knew it would continue to eat at him as he suffered silently, but she also didn’t want him to grow angrier towards her. Stupidly, she thought, the tears began rolling down her face.

Meanwhile, Louis stood in the shower, the scalding water running therapeutically through his hair and over his shoulders. He thought about the February he found out it was just Marshall and him. He had gone to school as usual, but his brother had stayed home, claiming to be sick. Marshall was not much into school, so it wasn’t unusual for him to miss school due to “illness,” especially in his eighteenth year. But when Louis got home after school that day, the house was empty. It wasn’t until a few hours later that Marshall had returned home looking worn out and defeated. It turned out that their father had left Marshall a note saying that he had gone away and wouldn’t be back and that he was sorry, along with a few hundred euros, and Marshall had spent the day going from pub to pub, searching for their da (and work while he was at it), and getting the pub owners to call him if they saw him. Though he didn’t know how long they’d have a phone for.

Marshall was simultaneously defeated and determined. Louis decided that he would leave school and help earn them money, to which Marshall threatened beatings and incredible pain if he ever thought of such an idea again. Marshall began completing odd jobs before he found part-time and then full-time work at a couple of labour jobs, which earned reasonably well. He was always charismatic, so he rarely had trouble finding people to take him on anywhere.

Louis remembered how completely knackered Marshall would be on a near-constant basis, running on very little sleep. Still, they’d play their music; still, they’d hang out as brothers and friends; still, Marshall would play the role of authoritarian when Louis needed a fire lit under him. He worked tirelessly until Louis finished school. Then, having somehow managed to save enough money, he moved the two of them to America, leaving Ireland in their dust.

And then the man who forced Marshall into the life he had to lead wanted to talk and repent after nearly twenty years of absence? How could Lyla not see that this was impossible?

After his shower, he slowly unlocked the bathroom door, revealing a darkened room. He could see Lyla’s shape curled on the bed but he didn’t think she was asleep. They hadn’t phoned home yet and they called August nightly, per her promise.

“Lyla,” he whispered but was met by silence. “Do you want to call home?”

“I did,” she stated simply.

“Oh.” He wondered if he should take offence to her calling home without him but didn’t think Lyla could ever do anything out of spite. “Everything good?” he asked before quickly adding, “back home, I mean.”

He could see the slight nod of her silhouette in the dark, but she said nothing.

“Lyla…” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and decided to be simple and honest. “I’m sorry. I know you mean well. It’s just tough for me, y’know?” He paused. “But I think I’ve decided I’ll go meet him… if you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

“Good.” He lay himself down on the bed, space in between he and Lyla. But within a few minutes, she had rolled to face him and lightly draped her hand over his shoulder.


	13. July 2008 (2)

In the morning, there was still an uneasiness between them. Lyla didn’t want to say anything to cause Louis to change his mind about meeting his father, and Louis didn’t feel like speaking at all. They ate breakfast and got ready for the meeting with silence and small talk.

By noon, they were back at the pub, which was largely empty but for the bartender and Louis’ dad sitting at a round table near the stage where Louis and Lyla had sat the day before.

The couple cautiously joined him, sitting in the chairs opposite.

“Glad y’ came,” his father said in the grizzled voice from the previous night. “D’you want a round?”

“No. Thank you,” Lyla said, feeling like her coming along may not have been the wisest decision based on the tension floating thick in the air.

“Alright,” but he signalled the bartender for another drink of his own. “Where’re you stayin’?”

Lyla waited for Louis to answer, but feeling that moment wouldn’t come, answered instead. “At a Bed and Breakfast about fifteen minutes away? I… can’t remember its name.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “There’re a lot o’ those kinds o’ places ‘round here. Tourists love that Irish charm.”

“Mhmm.”

“Have you managed t’ see lots of Ireland?”

“Um… a bit—"

“Say whatcha need to say, da,” Louis cut in impatiently.

His father sighed and took a big gulp from his glass before speaking. “Louis, I want t’ start by sayin’ that I’m sorry. I am. I know t’wasn’t right what I done. Know that I did come back t’ Cork a few years gone like, but no one knew where I could find y’.” He saw that Louis was unimpressed but soldiered on. “I know th’ reason I left won’t make up for’t but I want t’ explain meself. I know I was a coward an’ that doesn’t excuse it, but… When yer mam died, I didn’t know how t’ carry on properly, but I tried. Fer a little while. When Marshall was sixteen, I met Siobhan an’ started t’ spend most nights wit’ her. I got to be a regular man in his early thirties. Y’ don’t understand how scary it is be a man raising two almost-grown kids at thirty-three when I never really got t’ experience anything normal. With Siobhan, I could be normal. An’ it got t’ th’ point that I saw how my life could be. I could start again. And I’m ‘shamed t’ say I planned on leavin’ for a long while. But I promised that t’wouldn’t be until Marshall was an adult by law like.”

“So you wanted a do-over?” Louis asked in disbelief. “That’s your big excuse?”

His father nodded, though managed to look ashamed. “I married Siobhan an’ we had a son, John, named after yer grandfather – yer mam didn’t like family names, otherwise that woulda been Marshall’s name.” Again, he drank from his glass. Lyla was admittedly fascinated by how much he could take in with a single gulp. “Then we had Aiobhan, followed by Sian, an’ finally Tyler, who’s seven. I just thought y’ should know that yer family has grown.”

“They’re not—” Louis started before coming to a realization. “The youngest is seven? When did you have the others?”

“John was born… the year after I met Siobhan,” he said slowly.

“The year after—so Marshall was seventeen? But you said you married…” Louis’ voice quivered dangerously, but Lyla could see something more than anger there.

His father nodded, sighing. “I married Siobhan when she was pregnant wit’ John. I… I didn’t want t’ complicate things by bringin’ y’ and Marshall into it. I thought it’d be better.”

“Better for who? You?” Louis sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. Lyla placed her hand on his thigh, trying to will him to stay calm. “Well, good riddance,” he spat. “Y’know? She seems a real catch, forcin’ a man to abandon his sons for her. You two deserve each other.”

“She… didn’t know. She doesn’t know. I… didn’t tell her about y’ an’ Marshall. I’m not goin’ to. I don’t want her t’ know what kind of man I was then.”

“ _Then_?” Louis barked. His words weren’t very loud, but they were saturated with repulsion. “You mean now! You’re the same person now as you were then! You think lying an’ pretendin’ me an’ Marshall don’t exist makes you a good man? It doesn’t. You’re just hidin’ from the truth.” Everything that Louis wanted to say came spilling out in an eruption that had been building for years. His low, controlled voice built into a crescendo of shouts, calling his father every insult he could think of; he berated him for his treatment of his sons both before and after he had left; he raged about what Marshall had to go through and give up. He didn’t feel better afterwards. His father had listened without interruption and looked broken while Lyla had watched his tirade, her eyes full of tears ready to spill for him. With nothing more to say, he looked between the two of them and stormed out of the pub, leaving them behind.

Lyla stood to follow him, but her father-in-law grabbed her by the wrist. “Let ‘im go, darling.”

She glared at the man. “Let. Go.” He let her wrist fall to her side, surprise clear on his face. “Everything he called you was much nicer than you deserve,” she said coldly. “You go back to your new family and know that Marshall and Louis are both five times the men you will ever be. Neither of them would _ever_ do what you have so selfishly done.” Before the tears began to fall freely, she left the pub.

At the car, she saw that Louis was nowhere to be found. She had kept the key with her though and, despite barely knowing how to drive standard, made to drive back herself, figuring Louis needed to walk off his rage. She took the side roads back to the Bed & Breakfast, stalling several times, but managed to get to her destination without major incident.

She turned off the car and sat for a moment, reliving the events in the pub. They hadn’t even stayed in there for a quarter of an hour, yet it felt much longer. She was emotionally exhausted and could only imagine what Louis was feeling. Lyla understood hate for a father, but what her father had done was, she knew, out of love and wanting what was best for his daughter. Louis’ father acted based solely on what he wanted, not thinking much about how it would affect his sons who had both lost a mother first. Lyla kept seeing Louis’ emotions plain on his face – anger, disgust, hate, and hurt. It made her stomach churn and she felt immediately nauseous. She took a deep breath, not much feeling like throwing up or sitting alone in a car crying for something that wasn’t really about her, and went inside.

In the room, she waited for Louis to return. But time ticked on and there was no sign of him. She grew worried once it started to get dark. Again, she felt sick to her stomach, but this time she found herself doubled over the toilet vomiting up her breakfast. She felt better once she had thrown up though and realized that it was supper time despite having had no lunch. Lyla paced the room, not wanting to leave in case Louis turned up and needed her; she decided to order pizza to the room and then called home. She needed advice.

She tried to sound as normal as possible while she spoke with August. She told him about their day, making up a story about the shopping that they had done, and about how they were excited to be going home tomorrow because they were so tired. In fact, she had said, for the second day in a row, August’s dad was drained and to bed early.

“I can’t wait to see you,” she chirped.

“Me too,” August replied, excited.

“Your father and I love you very much. We probably won’t be able to call tomorrow since we’ll be flying, so we’ll see you when we’re back, okay?”

“Okay, I love you too.”

“Can you put Uncle Marshall on the phone, please?”

August didn’t respond but could be heard passing the phone to Louis’ brother.

“I didn’t burn anythin’ down and haven’t had any girls over, so what is it?” he joked.

“I’m worried about Louis.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Marshall asked, his tone shifting from comic to protective in an instant.

“Well,” she began, unsure of how hearing about his father would impact Marshall. He waited silently until she continued. “We ran into your father.”

“Ah,” Marshall said, seeming to understand without explanation. “How was dear Da?”

“He told Louis why he left and that he was sorry and that he tried to find you but couldn’t.” Lyla could feel tears rising up and more nausea hitting her. “Hold on.” She set the phone down and rushed to the toilet. However, the feeling passed. The last time she had become sick due to anxiety was when she had her first solo recital as a child. She would have preferred to miss that trip down memory lane.

“Sorry,” she said after returning to the call.

“Y’alright?” He sounded legitimately concerned.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m worried, Marshall. We met your dad at noon and I haven’t seen Louis since we left maybe fifteen minutes later. He didn’t even go back to the car. It’s dark now and it’s my fault that he even went in the first place and—” This time, the tears spilled out. She tried to compose herself but couldn’t help it. She had no one else to talk to who knew Louis as well as Marshall. “I don’t know where he is,” she cried, “and what if something has happened? We are supposed to come home tomorrow and now I don’t feel well and—”

“Lyla!” Marshall interrupted. “You’ve got t’ pull yourself together, girl! Remember where you are. Louis grew up in Cork. He knows the city like th’ back of his hand. Anywhere he’s gone, he knows how t’ get back from. He’s not a complicated man, our Louie. I can tell you he’s down the pub somewhere and he’ll be back later. He wanted t’ be alone, that’s all.”

“But he was so angry—”

“He gets angry! He just hasn’t been angry around you until now.”

“But he’ll be mad at me. I’m the one who convinced him to—”

“Lyla, he’s not one who can be convinced t’ do anything he doesn’t want to do. Believe me. And he thinks the sun shines out your ass. You could cut off his arm and he’d forgive you. Relax. Enjoy the quiet. Get some shuteye. And stop making yourself feel sick. He’ll be back in a few hours, guaranteed.”

Lyla calmed herself down, “okay.” She took a deep quivering breath. “Thank you, Marshall.”

“That’s okay. You’re okay now, yeah?”

“Yes. Fine. Promise.”

“Alright then. We’ll see you when you’re back.”

Lyla said her goodbyes and hung up just in time for the pizza to have arrived. She was glad she had spoken with Marshall. He knew his brother best so she tried to convince herself to listen to him and relax. She’d have some pizza and take a bath, then try to sleep.

Having had her pizza, she began to fill the tub up with water and bubbles, but that familiar nausea washed over her again. She sat on the side of the tub breathing deeply, hoping it would pass. But it didn’t. She turned off the taps and sat on the floor until she felt the bile start to rise and found her head over the toilet. Maybe it was more than anxiety.

* * *

 

It was well after midnight when Louis stumbled up the B&B stairs. His legs were weak and unstable, and he constantly felt himself falling to the right. His attempts to be quiet only led to more noise. Outside of his and Lyla’s room, he tried to compose himself by taking a deep breath and standing still. He didn’t know what time it was for sure, but most people were asleep at that point, so he knew it was late enough. And he also knew that Lyla would be sleeping. He didn’t want to wake her.

As quietly as he could muster, he opened the door to their room and shuffled in. The very little light that seeped in through the curtains allowed him to see the outline of the room. He could smell pizza and found the box sitting open on the vanity. His stomach growled, so he stood a moment over the box, eating a couple of slices. He then began to undress, removing his boots and jacket. He stumbled over to the bed and fell into it. But it was then he realised Lyla wasn’t there. One of the pillows along with the blanket was also missing. Louis shot up, immediately on high alert. Where was she?

“Lyla?” he called. He found the light switch; the light confirmed Lyla’s absence from the room. “Lyla?” he called again, a little more urgently as he strode to the bathroom.

On the floor in a pile of blankets and pillows, Lyla was curled by the toilet, her hand wrapped around a glass of water.

“Lyla.” Louis knelt next to her and her eyes squinted open. “Mo chroí, what’s wrong?” he asked urgently, more slurred than he would have liked.

She shook her head. “Sick,” she mustered.

Louis leaned over her and felt her forehead. Was it warmer than usual? “For how long?”

Lyla knew that Louis meant well, but he smelled of beer, sweat, and cigarettes, and it made her stomach churn. “Mmph.” She pushed him away. “You have to shower or change or something,” she croaked, holding her arm up between them. Louis nodded without objection and she watched as he immediately and unsteadily stripped down to shower.

Her stomach had settled somewhat. Throughout the night, she had felt waves of nausea hit her. Sometimes she’d thrown up, and other times she’d sit on the bathroom floor waiting for it to pass. She had been fading in and out of sleep all night, which was part of the reason for her campout in the bathroom. That, and it cut down on the travel time from bed to toilet significantly.

She must have faded into sleep again, listening to the sound of the water fall over the acrylics, because she was startled awake by the abrupt loss of waterfall sounds. Through mostly-closed eyes, she watched him glance at her before disappearing into the bedroom and reappearing shortly after, dressed. He seemed to be watching her out of the corner of his eyes while he brushed his teeth as quickly as possible.

Satisfied that he had rid himself of any trace of alcohol or cigarettes, Louis joined Lyla on the floor once more. Again, he felt her forehead. It was warmer, but he wasn’t sure if it was a sign of fever. He was having trouble thinking clearly. “How long you been like this?”

Lyla shrugged, eyes closed, too tired to speak.

“Should we go to the hospital?”

Lyla’s lip twitched upwards in either a grimace or smile. “No,” she whispered.

He thought that she was wrong but figured he could watch and see if she improved within the next couple of hours. Sitting with his back against the wall and his hand on her leg, Louis felt himself beginning to doze off, but kept startling himself awake as his head fell. Lyla reached for his hand and pulled him down to lie next to her, which he gratefully did, draping his arm lightly over her.

They both slept on the bathroom floor until the morning light washed away any need for use of electrics. Lyla felt surprisingly well – it had certainly been several hours since she was last sick, and this knowledge gave her a surge of energy. Slowly, careful not to wake Louis, she slipped out from under his arm and the blanket, sitting up. She felt weak and a little light-headed, but knew they’d have to check out soon. Pulling herself up, she stumbled to the bathroom counter and came face-to-face with a dark-eyed ghoul. Her skin was pale and contrasted deeply with her eye makeup that had smudged, she was sure, early on in the night.

A loud rumbling screamed from her stomach, but she ignored it. She’d rather be hungry than sick again.

“D’you want me to get us something?”

The hoarse, shapeless voice startled Lyla out of her examination of self.

Louis sat up, hair sticking every which way, and dark circles adorning his eyes. One eye was open while the other was closed, giving the impression that he was afflicted with intense pain.

Lyla shook her head, “I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to be sick again.”

Louis struggled to his feet and shuffled over to his wife, wrapping his arms around her from behind and looking at her reflection in the mirror. “You’ve got to eat something, love. I’ll get some dry toast and see if they have ginger tea, yeah?”

She groaned but didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to face Louis and wrapped her arms around him. “Sorry,” she said.

He was confused. “Sorry about what?”

“Your dad,” she murmured.

“Why’re you sorry? He’s the—” he tried to think of a more polite word than what he wanted to say.

“I made you go.”

Louis chuckled incredulously. “Lyla, love, I went because I decided to, not because you forced me to. I should be the one apologizin’. I was an ass, leaving you alone.”

Lyla just shook her head and they stood for a moment embracing each other (or holding each other up).

“Right,” said Louis, kissing Lyla’s forehead. “I’m going to get some breakfast for us.”

While Louis went to complete his task, Lyla worked on feeling human again by the power of clean teeth and a shower. When she got out, she could smell the toast and tea Louis had returned with, both of which had gone cold. Louis had packed up most of their suitcase and bags. She must have been in the shower longer than she thought.

“Check out’s in about thirty minutes,” Louis said as Lyla lay down on the blanket- and pillow-less bed. He brought over a piece of hard, dry toast and sat by her head. “I know you don’t want to be sick—”

“I just brushed my teeth.”

“—but you need to eat something. Starving yourself won’t do you any good.”

She took the bread and sniffed it. It didn’t seem very appetizing, but her stomach still growled. Carefully, she took a small bite, chewed, and swallowed. “You said something last night – in Gaelic, I think – what did it mean?” she asked, waiting to see how the first bite treated her before she took another.

“I… don’t remember. What did I say?”

“Muh… kree? I think.” She took another small bite.

“Mo chroí?”

“Yes!”

“I’m not sure what it translates to. I never really knew how to speak Irish. It was something me mam used to call me and Marshall. I think it’s something like ‘my love’ or ‘sweetheart’ or something.”

“You should use more Irish on me,” she suggested, smirking.

“It might be that I curse your name and don’t even know it, but okay a chuisle mo chroí.” He leaned down and kissed her before continuing his tidying of the room.

Lyla made it through the piece of toast and managed to keep it, along with some cautious sips of ginger tea, down. They checked out of the B&B and stopped for some snacks (on Louis’ part) and water before driving three hours to Dublin where they would be catching their flight back to New York.

At one point during the journey, Lyla forced Louis to pull over, feeling nauseous, but it had passed without any event.

They arrived in Dublin, returned their rental car, and checked in for their flight, despite being a couple hours earlier than they needed to be. Neither of them felt much up to doing or seeing anything other than the airport departure lounge where they could relax until it was time to fly.

Lyla refused to eat anything else, experiencing occasional waves of passing nausea. She didn’t want to risk it. Louis himself felt moments of nausea as well, though his were due to the hangover that plagued him.

On the plane, Lyla took the window seat and went into sleep mode as soon as the craft was in the air. Louis wanted nothing more than to sleep as well, but he instead took care of her, offering her a sick bag whenever she startled herself awake looking as though she’d be sick, and keeping provisions of plain crackers and ginger-anything at hand if she decided she needed something. It was a long flight.

Louis woke Lyla up properly as the captain announced their descent. She looked worse for wear – hair knotted and frizzed, the light eye makeup she had worn, smudged, a red mark on her cheek from where her coat button had dug in. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his wife, still beautiful despite being ill and at risk of throwing up on him at any moment. “How’re you feeling?”

“I can’t wait to get home to bed.”

“You will need to eat something. It’s not good for you to go this long.”

She gave non-committal shrug as she straightened herself and her belongings.

When they disembarked, Lyla was exceedingly relieved. She needed the comfort and familiarity of New York and its people. While she had loved travelling to Spain and Scotland and Ireland, she would be satisfied with putting any other travel plans off for awhile, and she hoped Louis felt the same.

They went through customs and baggage claim. When they exited the Arrivals gate, they were met by a smiling Marshall and an excited August.

“You didn’t have to come meet us,” Lyla said, embracing August and trying to hide how she felt.

“I missed you,” August replied.

Marshall watched Lyla and exchanged a silent look with Louis who shook his head. “Kid’s idea, I swear,” Marshall said.

“We missed you too,” Louis replied, hugging August in turn. “We’re starving though. We need food and then we need home.”

Lyla said nothing but tensed at the thought.

Deciding they were too exhausted to go and get proper food, they settled for some coffee shop goodies. Louis ordered a sandwich that was filled with cured meats and was oozing with cheese while Lyla ordered a plain bagel with nothing on it.

“She alright?” Marshall murmured to Louis as Lyla nibbled at her bagel, telling August all about her favourite places.

Louis shook his head. “Yeah but she was throwing up last night and felt sick the entire plane ride. Trying to get her to eat something has been a task. She’ll get to bed as soon as we get back. And I’ll take her to the doctor tomorrow if it’s not better.”

Marshall nodded, “and you?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, confused.

“Ah.” Louis knew that the pause didn’t mean they were finished. It never did. “Because,” Marshall continued, “Lyla said that you ran into Da.”

When had she told him that? Not feeling like reliving his encounter at the moment, he said, “we’ll talk later, Marshall.”

Marshall patted Louis on the shoulder. “Alright. We ready to go?” He took Louis and Lyla’s suitcase and waited for the others to follow him as he marched them to the parking lot.

Opening up the door to their apartment felt like entering Nirvana. Marshall had managed to keep it clean (or at least cleaned it before they got back) while he stayed with August. Everything about it looked so comfortable to her, but she was most excited about taking a nice bubble bath in _her_ bathtub and losing herself in the covers of _her_ bed.

“Nephew, why don’t you and I watch some TV while your parents get settled,” Marshall said.

The newlyweds – were they still considered newlyweds? – brought their bags into their bedroom only to be met with piles of boxes and bags and envelopes. Their wedding gifts. And in a large box on the stool for Lyla’s vanity, Lyla’s wedding dress was folded neatly away. Forgetting all other tasks she had planned to do, she opened the box and admired her dress again.

Louis observed her reverie, smiling and remembering how she had looked only a month before; everything about her was perfect all the time, no matter her state, but she was beyond words on their wedding day. “You did good with that dress.”

She glanced back at Louis and grinned. It had been a sophisticated and classy dress, but the low back and other mildly revealing details made her feel sexy as well. She ran her fingers over the lace detail wistfully. “Do you want to get married again?”

Louis laughed. “Maybe let’s give it a couple of years.”

She sighed and closed up the box before looking at the giant pile of gifts. “How are we ever going to get through all of this?”

“Well,” Louis said, “we start with the envelopes and work our way up to the giant boxes…. And you can write the thank you notes while we go.”

“Gee, thanks.” Lyla set down her bag and took off her coat. “Well, while you start that, I’m going to have a well-deserved bath.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“A bit better now we’re home. Maybe because I ate something.”

“Funny how that works.” Louis collected the envelopes placed sporadically among the boxes, sat on the edge of the bed, and began opening them. With the water running, Lyla returned to the bedroom and started organising the boxes more or less by size. He read each card out loud to Lyla before returning the cash or cheque to its folds so they would know who to thank. But he had to pause when he opened up a card that simply said ‘Lyla’ on its envelope. “Lyla,” he said. “From your dad.”

The note on the card was short and simple:

_Dear Lyla and Lewis,_

_Congratulations on your wedding. So long as you are happy, Lyla, I am happy. Please accept this gift from both your mother, who would have loved to see you in this moment, and myself. I hope you find some good use in it, whether it’s for yourselves or for August._

_Love Dad_

Lyla read the card as Louis held out the cheque. “Look at the amount.”

She looked at the cheque, which read $1,500,000, and almost threw it to the ground. “We can’t accept this,” she said immediately. “It’s too much. What is he thinking?”

Lyla put the card and cheque back in their envelope, then stuck it in the top drawer of her vanity. She knew that the Chicago home had been worth a lot, but she just thought that the house her father bought in Rochester would be just as extravagant. Why would he give her so much? What on Earth could she do with so much? She decided she would call him in the morning, thank him, reject the gift, and then set up something where they could do something as a family as some sort of consolation. It was just too much.

Once the tub was filled with water that was the perfect temperature and filled with lavender-scented bubbles, she put on some soothing spa music and slipped into the much-awaited bath.

Louis unpacked their bags, piling up their laundry in their hamper and putting everything else away in its place. They had brought some small things back from Ireland for the people in their lives: proper Irish Guinness from Dublin for the boys in the band, a leather guitar strap with elaborate etched Celtic designs from Galway for August, and a soft woolen shawl for Lizzy from Doolin. He placed the items on their bed and put the suitcase along with their backpacks in the hall closet.

Lyla’s whole body felt relaxed, and the lavender took away any stress of travel or events of the last 48 hours. She didn’t care what time it was; as soon as she was finished in the bath, she would be going to sleep for the next week. Forget about wedding presents and responsibilities. But just as she felt at complete peace, she was forced to sit up straight and breathe deeply as, again, she began feeling nauseated. She was getting really tired of feeling this way, never knowing if it would end with her feeling okay for a little while longer or end with her head in a toilet. If Lyla had to run to the toilet now, she was certain she would slip on the floor and crack her head open in a comic display of clumsiness and soap. Luckily for her, it passed again.

Lyla hoped it would stay away. It had been long enough, hadn’t it? She knew if it kept up, she’d have to go to the doctor. Had it been more than 24 hours since it started? While trying to figure the time change out with her muddled mind, another thought creeped in.

Louis and Lyla had decided that after they were married, they’d start trying for another child. She had stopped taking her birth control in April at her doctor’s suggestion and they used other means of contraception until their wedding. But after that, they didn’t bother. She remembered feeling a little bit of nausea with August, but not to this extent, and it only started after she was two months along. Could the nausea happen earlier? Her heart began racing as she tried to pinpoint the last time that she had her period. Forgetting the bath, she wrapped her robe around her and went in search of her Blackberry where she always kept track of her cycles.

“What are you lookin’ for?” Louis asked a frantic Lyla.

“My Blackberry. Have you seen it?” She searched through the piles of knick-knacks from their bags that Louis had piled on their dresser.

“In your coat maybe?” He rifled through her jacket pockets before finding the phone. “Think it’s dead though.”

Lyla found the charger and plugged it into the nearest outlet before taking the Blackberry from Louis. She sat on the floor and turned it on, impatient.

“What’s the matter?” He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm. I just… want to check something,” she murmured as she scrolled to her calendar and searched for her last entry. The end of May. She checked and re-checked to make certain that she hadn’t missed something before setting the phone down and looking up at Louis, eyes wide. “My period,” she said.

He tilted his head, eyebrows slightly furrowed in question.

Lyla stood up. “My last period was in May.”

Louis stood up swiftly, trying to mute his excitement. “What do you mean?”

“It’s different from before. I knew before. But the nausea… now this.”

“Yes?” he urged.

“I think I might be pregnant.”


	14. August 2008

Louis fiddled with the tuning pegs of his black Gibson, strumming and listening for the perfect sound in preparation for his first show in over a month. For once, he was one of the first to arrive for the gig, not needing to start back at work until Monday. Marshall was always there first, of course, getting off work a lot sooner than anyone else.

“A little rusty, aren’t you baby bro,” he joked, his Fender bass propped up against the amps, forgotten.

“You just worry about yourself, yeah?”

“Ah,” Marshall sighed, sitting down on the stage next to his brother. “What kind of brother would I be if I did that?”

Louis grinned, “yeah, well.” He let his guitar rest against his side as he reached into a paper bag he brought along. “I got you and the boys somethin’ from Dublin. Was gonna wait, but here.” From the bag, he presented a bottle of Guinness.

Marshall’s face lit up, “the black stuff. We used t’ drink so much of this, d’you remember?”

Louis nodded, “yeah but it never tasted the same here. Hopefully it travelled well.”

“’Cept I don’t think I’ll bring myself to open it. Thanks, man.” He put the bottle to the side. “How’s Lyla been? Still sick?”

Louis smiled and shook his head, “she’s fine. Went to the doctor but he thinks it was just somethin’ she ate.” That wasn’t what the doctor said, but they weren’t telling anyone just yet. Lyla was still nauseous and would be for the foreseeable future.

Marshall nodded and stared out into the empty space that would start filling up in a couple of hours. “So, Louie.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened with you and da?”

Louis sighed. The meeting with his father felt eons in the past, but it hadn’t even been a full week. “How did you even find out about that?”

“Your girl called to talk to August and then wept in my ear. Y’know, if I wanted to deal with whingin’ women, I’d get a wife of me own.”

“I didn’t know that,” Louis replied, feeling the familiar twinge of guilt he had after finding Lyla on the bathroom floor in Cork.

“Yeah, well. What happened?”

Louis shrugged, “exactly what you’d expect. We ran into him in Cork at Mulcahy’s when we were getting’ a bite. He wanted to meet the next day, so we did. He went on about how he was sorry and tried to find us after he left, but didn’t know where we got to.”

“He’s full of shit, but that’s not why y’ went missin’.”

Louis shook his head. “He married this woman and had a kid before he left us without us knowin’. Has a whole brood now. Said that he wanted to start over. Then said that his new wife never knew about us… and wouldn’t ever know about us. Then I just lost it. Called him a lot of nice things. Showed Lyla a good side of myself.”

“Ah.” Marshall nodded his understanding. “Y’know… when he first left and I went lookin’ for him, I did find him.”

“You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Marshall shrugged. “Just didn’t seem important at the time. Plus, he said he was leavin’ Cork and going to Killarney. He was with a woman, so I thought that he might’ve found someone and that’s why he was leaving. Guess I was right.”

“Real piece of work, that man. I think we ended up doing better without da than we would’ve with him.”

“Yeah,” Marshall murmured, something else clearly on his mind.

“What is it, Marshall?”

“Hm?”

“What do you need to say?”

“Nah, I was just thinkin’—” He turned to face Louis, a strange look in his eyes. “Louie, man, I need to tell ya something but you need to promise me you won’t tell anyone else. Not even that wife of yours. Not yet anyway.”

Louis was intrigued. Marshall was not one to keep things to himself, even when people wished he would, so a secret was a rare thing. “Yeah, sure.”

“D’you remember my date for your wedding? Maya?”

Louis remembered. Maya had tended bar at a janky pub in Brooklyn when the band had performed. She looked like a supermodel and exactly the kind of girl Marshall would go after. He nodded.

“Well… she called me up today and she told me she’s pregnant.”

Louis’ heart jumped. That was news he would never expect to hear from Marshall who loved sex and was always careful. “How in God’s name did that happen to you of all people?”

Marshall grinned, “well, Maya and me have a nice arrangement that I don’t have wit’ other girls, but somethin’ happened with her birth control. She missed it or it was defective or… somethin’. Honestly, stopped listening after she said she was pregnant.”

Louis shook his head grinning wide. “Marshall, you’ve got to let me tell Lyla.”

“See, that’s why I made you promise first. Nah, I don’t know for sure if the kid’s mine and I don’t need those judgey little eyes on me.”

“Lyla is the least judgemental woman you’ll ever meet. And what d’you mean she doesn’t know?”

Marshall ran his hand over his chin. “Well, me and Maya are, uh, kindred spirits. We only see each other really if we’ve struck out for the night. But she thinks it’s mine and… I kind of hope it is. I said I’d help out in any case.”

“Marshall, people might think you’re a bit of an ass—”

“Who?” he asked in mock offence.

“—but you’ve got a heart of gold.”

“Don’t spread that around too much,” Marshall joked. “Right, so—"

“Lyla’s pregnant too.”

Marshall’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Louie! Congratulations, man!” He flung his arm around his brother and pulled him in, ruffling his hair.

Louis grinned stupidly. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone though, but if I tell her…”

“Goddammit, Lou. Fine, do what you’ve got to do. Anyway, there’re bigger things to think about right now than what your wife does or doesn’t know.”

“And what’s that?”

“I got a call while you were off galivanting overseas.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis held his guitar again, practicing fingerings while Marshall spoke.

“Yeah, from a man named Aaron York. He was at your wedding.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar. Maybe from Lyla’s side.”

“No, no. He works for Revolutions Inc. It’s a record label, Lou.”

Louis stopped focusing on his guitar and looked at Marshall. “A record label? Why was he at the wedding?"

“He wanted to see us play that Saturday. Frank called and tried to book us, but you were gettin’ married for some reason. So, I okayed it with Lyla and invited him to the wedding since I figured we’d end up playing some."

“Lyla. And he called you?”

Marshall nodded. “Yeah. He said he liked our sound and was considering signing us if we were interested.”

“What’d you say?”

“Well, I said yeah, we’re interested. He wanted to see us perform an actual concert first though, so he’s been waiting for us. It seems a sure thing by the sounds of it.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight.”

“Shouldn’t’ve told me.”

“What difference does it really make?”

Louis shrugged, “I guess you’re right.” He surveyed the empty space in front of him. “Shit. This could actually be something. 

“Yeah. So don’t screw it up.”

* * *

 

The band played two sets that night, first for the after-work crowd, playing their original songs, and second for the late-night crowd, playing their originals along with some covers to keep the newcomers in the crowd happy.

Louis arrived home a couple hours after midnight having completed his sets, packed up, and met with Aaron York of Revolutions Inc. to discuss options and contracts. He said he loved their sound and liked their ‘image’, so each member of the band was given a contract to consider. Not one member of the band seemed to have much reservation in signing it. With Lyla’s pregnancy, Marshall’s impending fatherhood, and now Revolutions Inc., Louis was riding high.

He entered his home to be greeted with darkness save for a small stovetop light from the kitchen that Lyla kept on when she went to bed. Instead of attending the show with their son, she opted to have a movie night with August and spend one-on-one time with him, having missed him for the month she and Louis were in Europe. Louis locked the door, set his keys on their hook, and kicked off his boots before heading to his and Lyla’s room.

Inside, he could see the dark outline of Lyla asleep in their bed. And although he couldn’t make out details, he knew that she looked angelic. She always did. He desperately needed a shower to wash the sweat from his performance away, but he wanted to see Lyla first, and she always liked to know when he got home. Still in his jacket and jeans, he crawled into their bed and kissed Lyla’s forehead gently.

“Mm,” she sighed, bringing her hand to his neck and opening her eyes just enough to see his smile. She brought his face close to hers and kissed him softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He lay down his head on her chest. “Sorry to wake you.”

“You know I want you to,” she whispered. They lay in silence, Lyla half asleep and welcoming the comforting weight of Louis’ head on her chest. Then, “you smell so good.”

Louis, who had started to slip into sleep with the soothing rise and fall of Lyla’s chest, was startled awake. “And what do I smell like?”

She ran her fingers through his hair, twisting and playing with little strands. “Like soap. And cologne. But also sweat and leather. And something else that’s just… you. It’s really nice.” Her fingers trailed his hairline and continued down to his jawline. She seemed to be studying him, memorising the shape and softness of his face.

“Hm.” He propped himself up and kissed her again, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers before tracing the curve of her neck, the defined edges of her collarbone, and the delicate contours of her breasts with his lips. With little prompting, he pulled her silk-and-lace camisole overhead. She watched intently as he positioned himself over her, working his way with lips and hands from her breasts to her navel, tenderness and restrained passion in every touch.

He stopped and looked down at the woman beneath him. She grasped his wrists and looked straight into his eyes, willing him to go on, her chest rising and falling with deep, earnest breaths.

With his hands, he followed the curve of her hips, pulling down her pajama bottoms as he went. Removing them entirely, he ran his hands over her soft skin, marvelling at its perfection. He paused for a moment, resting his forehead just below her belly button where their second child would soon begin to grow. He then ran his hands down her sides roughly, wanting to consume her.

“Louis,” she breathed, her hands reaching for him.

The whisper of his name by the woman whose soul he shared sent jolts of electricity through his body. He wanted to take her completely and lose himself in her. His kisses journeyed from hip bone to thigh and back again. She yearned for every kiss and every touch, and felt like she would explode if he took any longer.

Kissing her neck and jaw line and lips, Louis felt Lyla tangle her fingers in his hair and pull him closer to her before swiftly pushing him back and repositioning herself to kneel in front of him, eye-to-eye. Locked in ardent kisses, she began stripping him of his leather jacket and cotton blend t-shirt. She kissed his neck and chest like he had kissed hers, but more fervently. She unclasped his belt, undid his jeans, and pushed him onto his back so that she could disrobe him entirely like he had done to her.

Lyla straddled her husband, now the one pausing to look down into her lover’s eyes, communicating without words. Then, both in an equal state of longing and vulnerability, the two succumbed to lust and relinquished all restraint in one another.

In the morning, Louis held Lyla in a close embrace, his one hand holding her stomach in expectation. The news of the pregnancy had made him feel a type of elation that he had never felt before. His emotions were indescribable but made them love Lyla even more – something he thought was impossible to do. And he would get to be there to watch the child grow in her. Then he’d get to see the child grow up. August would be a big brother and their family would be even stronger.

And Marshall would have a child. Marshall. A man who never thought about settling down would soon be a father. Their children would grow up together, Louis thought, as close as siblings themselves. He could imagine them: best friends going to the same school and getting into all sorts of trouble, having to get August to help them out of sticky situations so their parents wouldn’t find out; playing music, maybe forming their own band and oozing talent.

“Lyla,” he whispered, pulling her closer.

“Hm?”

“I told Marshall.”

Lyla groaned, “why?”

“He told me something and made me promised not to tell you, so I traded information.”

“What information?”

“That girl he brought to the wedding is pregnant too.”

Lyla immediately shifted to face him. “What!”

Louis laughed. “Yeah.”

“Well, what’s that going to mean? They’re not… together are they? Neither of them seems the type to be in a serious relationship.”

Louis shook his head, “no, they won’t be anything more than parents of the same child I don’t think. But he seems excited. _I’m_ excited. For him and for us.”

Lyla kissed him, “me too.” 

* * *

 

The next week was full of focus on Revolutions Inc. and the contract that The Connelly Brothers would be signing. They had all agreed to sign, though more than half the band still lived in San Francisco and would have to deal with logistical issues. As part of the deal, they’d have to start recording a debut album, get photographed, play a festival at the end of August, and interview for a popular local music magazine. There was also talk of a name change. Instead of The Connelly Brothers or The Mad Connelly Brothers, the record label said they’d prefer something shorter like Mad Connelly or simply Connelly, so the band had to figure out what they wanted to go with.

On Friday, the band would play an early show after which the magazine would interview them as a sort of introduction to the New York music scene despite having been popularised for quite some time. They never released any recorded music though, so this would be a new direction for them.

After work on Friday, Louis stopped off at home to quickly change. Then he, August, and Lyla headed down to the music club to play for the after-work crowd. Lyla and August had wanted to come because of the interview, and also because the autumn orchestral showcases were coming up and Lyla would be in rehearsals pretty regularly, so wouldn’t be able to attend many more of Louis’ performances for awhile.

The Connelly Brothers took to the stage at six o’clock to a fairly warm reception. People out of work on a Friday evening were always in a generally good mood.

Lyla and August were introduced to Aaron York and sat with Emily, Nick’s wife, who had flown in with her husband from San Francisco for the show.

Lyla felt a bit like a fangirl when Louis stepped on stage, the blue and white lights gleaming against his fair skin. She liked watching how the muscles in his arms danced as he played his guitar or grasped the microphone to sing. He also had a certain presence on stage that made one focus only on him, and she didn’t think it was just because he was her husband.

Several songs in, Lyla excused herself, leaving Emily and August alone to cheer on their family.

Lyla had felt very little nausea throughout the past week, and she had been thankful for that episode of her pregnancy passing. But as she sat in the bathroom with what felt like bad menstrual cramps radiating from her pelvis to her lower back, and as she saw the red on her underwear, she worried that the lack of nausea had meant something much worse.

Louis had watched as Lyla left August and Emily behind. She finally returned a few songs later, but didn’t stay long. He saw her lean in and say something to Emily before speaking to and hugging August. And with a glance at him, she left once more.

Louis, though singing, glanced at Marshall who didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. They still had a few songs left in their set, so he played on, not wanting to screw anything up for the band.

After their last song, they left the stage with a chorus of applause and cheers following them. York was waiting for them backstage, a dark-haired woman with glasses, bright red lipstick, and a black and white striped dress standing at his side.

“Well done gentlemen,” York said. “This is Miranda Newcastle. She’ll be interviewing you tonight. Frank said we could use one of the back rooms where it’s a little quieter. So why don’t you follow Miranda and I’ll get some refreshments sent to you.”

“Just hold on a second,” Louis said. “Marshall, I’ll be right back.”

Marshall shook his head and in a low voice said, “where are you going, Louie?”

“Just hold on. I’ll be back.”

Marshall watched Louis go, trying to figure out his state of mind. “You guys go back. Me and Lou will come along in a second.” He followed his brother to the bar near the front of the venue.

Louis found August and Emily quickly as the early crowd began to dissipate. “August, where’d your mam go?” Marshall caught up a beat later.

“She said she was feeling sick and was going to go home. Good show Uncle Marshall.”

“Hey, thanks kid.”

As Marshall and August had a short conversation about the performance, August making technical suggestions while Marshall animatedly shut him down, Emily pulled Louis a short distance away. “She didn’t want to interrupt your set,” Emily said in a low voice. “But she was cramping and bleeding, so said she was going to the hospital.”

Louis’ heart dropped. He met Marshall’s eyes, whose smile disappeared almost instantly. Louis shook his head, “I’m sorry Marshall. I’ve got to go.”

“Louis—”

“I’m sorry,” he said as he rushed out of the club, hearing a ‘God dammit Louis’ chase after him.

Louis tried calling Lyla’s cell but there was no answer. He hoped that she had gone to the hospital near their home where her doctor was because he couldn’t decide on another that she would’ve gone to.

He arrived at the reception desk in Obstetrics and inquired about Lyla, who, he was relieved to find, had been admitted. They directed him to the correct room. On one bed, a very pregnant woman snored, while on the other, Lyla’s slender shape was curled, facing away from the door.

“Lyla,” he whispered, evidently startling her. She turned around quickly.

“Louis,” she responded before starting to cry.

He went to her and kissed her cheek and forehead. “Mo chroí.” He sat down on a nearby chair and grasped her hand. “What happened?”

She sniffled. “I don’t know. I started feeling cramping during the show. When I went to the bathroom, I saw blood. They haven’t come back with results yet, but I don’t think it’s good. I couldn’t see anything on the screen.”

Louis kissed her hand, unable to think of anything to say. He wanted to cry too.

“What about your interview?” she asked some time later, having calmed herself a little bit.

“You’ll always come first, love. The rest of the band will have to do.”

“Where’s August?”

“I left him there. Marshall’ll take care of him.”

Lyla nodded and they waited in silence, Louis holding Lyla’s left hand in both of his.

After ages of waiting, the doctor came in, closing the curtain that divided Lyla and the other woman.

“Mr. Connelly?” the doctor asked as he shook Louis’ hand.

“Yes,” he replied. “What can you tell us?”

The doctor looked between Louis and Lyla before speaking. “Unfortunately, I can confirm that you are miscarrying.” Lyla closed her eyes as tears streamed down her face, and Louis bowed his head. “There’s nothing that we can do to stop it. It doesn’t look like you’ll need any medical intervention though.”

“What do we need to do?” Louis asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“There isn’t really anything to do. Lyla, you’ll just have to let the tissue pass. Your cramping will be more or less constant throughout the week, sometimes lighter, sometimes worse. There will be bleeding that should stop completely after two weeks, if not sooner. Use menstrual pads as normal during this time. In the unlikely event that the bleeding doesn’t stop within that time, you will have to return so that we can check it out. However, I don’t see any issues as you’re quite healthy.”

“Then what caused it?” Lyla asked through her tears, wanting to know what she did wrong.

“Miscarriages are very common. It’s a natural occurrence usually caused by something not forming correctly. It’s the body’s way of noticing a problem and stopping it. It’s important that you know it isn’t caused by anything you’ve done. Like I said, you’re perfectly healthy. Women tend to blame themselves, but this was Mother Nature’s doing, not yours.”

Lyla nodded, though didn’t feel all that reassured. “What does this mean for the future? Will we be able to conceive again?”

The doctor nodded, “I don’t anticipate any trouble with that. About 90% of women who have experienced miscarriages go on to have perfectly healthy pregnancies. And since you already have a son, I don’t foresee any fertility issues. I’d just suggest waiting until your next menstrual cycle is complete though before trying again. Any other questions?”

Both Louis and Lyla shook their heads. “Thank you, Dr. Pomatter,” she said.

The doctor nodded, “I’ll get the nurse to bring you some Tylenol for the pain and I’ll be back to check on you in about an hour at which time we’ll discharge you.” The doctor left, leaving the curtain closed.

Louis brought his chair closer to Lyla’s bed and sat with his head resting on Lyla’s arm, tears stinging his eyes, while she stared at the ceiling, letting the tears fall silently.


	15. The Connelly Brothers: 15 Years in the Making

[The Connelly Brothers: 15 Years in the Making](http://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/44ec5c_8de71e94bf15470cb6225b4c1119bce1.pdf)

_Irish charm and good looks take New York’s stages by storm_

Miranda Newcastle

 

The Connelly Brothers, a five piece band from Ireland have recently signed with Revolutions Inc. in a move that is well overdue. I sat down the with the boys following their first performance as a signed band to get to know them a little better.

The front man, Louis Connelly, a passionate singer, lead guitarist, and songwriter, disappeared shortly after the Friday evening performance due to an unforeseen family emergency, so I was joined by bassist Marshall Connelly, rhythm guitarist/keyboardist  Nick Staton, drummer Steve Meyers, and fiddler Brian Reeves.

**Miranda Newcastle:** First off, let me say that your performance tonight was astounding. The talent you have as individuals and as a group definitely shines through in every song that you play. It’s surprising that you’ve been together for fifteen years now and haven’t signed with anyone. Why is that?

**Marshall Connelly:** Yeah, thanks. We’ve definitely talked about and tried signing in the past, but there was a big chunk of time where we were down a man and just didn’t have what we needed to go any further. Things have changed this past year, so we were able to move forward.

**MN:** Down a man? Which one of you was MIA?

**MC:** The man who’s missing today, of course.

**MN:** Is there a story there?

**MC:** Oh yeah, there’s a story there. But that’s something you’ll have to talk to my brother about. It’d be too much to say right now.

**MN:** Well I guess I’ll just have to see you gentlemen again then. Now, you’re all from Ireland originally, correct? So, did you form over there or once you came over?

**Brian Reeves:** We formed in San Francisco about fifteen years ago. Marshall and Louis had come from Cork with their guitars and talent, and we met them at an Irish pub one night after performing our own bits with other bands. I moved to San Francisco with my mom and dad when I was fifteen. Steve, I think, was nineteen when he came over?

**Steve Meyers:** Yeah, just turned nineteen.

**BR:** And Nick, you were seventeen?

**Nick Staton:** Yeah. Came over with a girl, but we broke up pretty soon after. She wanted to go back to Ireland and I wanted to stay.

**MN:** So why “The Connelly Brothers”?

**NS:** Well, it’s Louis who writes the songs. Without him, we’d just be another band singing covers of Irish folk songs.

**SM:** And it’s Marshall who convinced us to join him and Louis. They were already “The Connelly Brothers” and it just stuck.

**MN:** Is it true that there’s talk of a name change in the near future?

**MC:** Well that’s what they label wants. We haven’t decided yet.

**NS:** Just to translate, that means ‘probably not’.

**MN:** Well it certainly has a charm that most New York bands don’t. I personally like it.

**MC:** Then that settles it. We will forever be known as The Connelly Brothers because an attractive woman wills it. Where’s Aaron [their producer]? Tell him we’ve come to a decision.

**MN:** On the topic of attractive women, tell me about each of your situations. Married? Single? Kids? Marshall, let’s start with you.

**MC:** Absolutely not married and not the type to be in any sort of relationship. Kids? To be determined.

**NS:** I have a wife, Emily. She was at the show tonight and we’ll be making the move to New York permanently soon. No kids and no plans for kids in the future.

**BR:** No wife, no girl, no kids. I am divorced though, so at least I’ve got some baggage.

**SM:** I’ve got a fiancée and a daughter back in San Francisco.

**MN:** And I know that he isn’t here, but Louis? Is he with anyone?

**MC:** Yeah, Louie worships the ground his wife walks on. They just got married last month. And they’ve got a son together.

**MN:** Okay, so Marshall and Brian, any plans later tonight?

**MC:** Miranda, if you’ve got the will, I’ve got the time _._

My immediate impression of The Connelly Brothers is very positive. In terms of musicians, they have the talent. As performers and individuals, they have presence and shining personalities.

**MN:** You’ve been performing for fifteen years. What does getting signed to Revolutions Inc. mean for The Connelly Brothers?

**MC:** Well, we start recording tomorrow. We never bothered releasing an LP or anything, but there has been demand. We’ll continue playing shows Fridays and Saturdays. We’ve all still got day jobs. I think we have to do some photoshoot shit next week. Then at the end of the month, we’re playing Art Fest upstate. Louis is always coming up with some new song, so we’ll always be learning some new material as well.

**MN:** Well it seems like you’ve got a busy month ahead of you. We welcome you to the world of record labels and look forward to seeing where you go next.

The Connelly Brothers are a lively bunch of thirty-something men with sparkling talent, award-winning good looks, and stunning personalities. With their recent addition to Revolutions Inc., we’ll be seeing a lot from them in the near future. I myself am also particularly interested in the front man, Louis Connelly, so expect to see my interview with him in upcoming issues.

You can catch The Connelly Brothers almost exclusively at The Incubus every Friday and the occasional Saturday. They will be at Art Fest August 30th and 31st. Tickets are $20 at the entrance. Expect their debut album with their biggest performed hits at the start of the new year.


	16. Artist Feature: Louis Connelly

[ **Artist Feature: Louis Connelly** ](http://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/44ec5c_92bb90b4a2f549aeb4ba97bc11cdfae4.pdf)

_Connelly Brothers frontman shares his fairy tale story_

Miranda Newcastle

 

Every month, I feature a prominent New York musical artist in these pages, and we get to know them a little better. This month is a little different with our Artist Feature focusing on a recently signed band instead of one that’s more established. You’ll understand why shortly.

A month ago, I sat down with The Connelly Brothers, an Irish band recently signed to Revolutions Inc. and making waves ever since. Unfortunately, frontman Louis Connelly couldn’t join us at the time. But intrigued by the story his bandmates insisted he has, I asked him to join me for a one-on-one interview to learn about the singer-songwriter and talented guitarist.

**Miranda Newcastle:** Louis, thank you for agreeing to meet me. We were sad to miss you with the rest of the band, but they had nothing but good things to say about you, so I just had to meet you.

**Louis Connelly:** Nothing but good things? Were you talking to the right people?

**MN** : Is it right that you are the songwriter for the band? What inspires you to write?

**LC** : Yeah, I write the lyrics and the lead guitar, but it’s the band working together that creates the songs you hear. I don’t know much beyond guitar and the music would fall pretty flat without them.

As for inspiration, it’s different things. My wife, Lyla, is a big part of it. Same with my son. Most inspiration comes from life and experience. I could be walking down the street and suddenly have a song forming in my head. If I don’t have any paper, I’ll usually send a series of messages to Lyla so that I can save it somewhere. She’s pretty used to that by now.

**MN** : Is that the Lyla Connelly who is Associate Principal cellist for the New York Philharmonic?

**LC** : That’s really impressive that you know that. Yes, that’s her. She was Lyla Novacek when I met her.

**MN** : You’re a very talented couple. I know that Lyla has been featured in many Philharmonic and Juilliard performances from a young age. I’d imagine music is a pretty big part of your daily lives.

**LC** : Yeah, definitely. We play music as a family pretty often. Our son writes a lot of songs and tests them out on me and his mom or asks us to play them for him. We go to each other’s rehearsals and concerts regularly.

**MN** : How do you feel about being signed to Revolutions Inc. now? They’re certainly a label that does well. Does it feel different from before you were signed?

**LC** : Yeah. It’s busier. I still work in an office full time and play concerts on the weekends, but now we’ve got recording sessions and interviews and photoshoots on top of that. It’s a bit surreal sometimes.

**MN** : In my interview with the rest of The Connelly Brothers last month, Marshall mentioned that you had left the band about a decade prior. He said there was a story there. What caused you to leave?

**LC** : How much time do you have? It’s a bit of a ridiculous story.

Nearly thirteen years ago, I met Lyla at a party. We were and are the same soul, so we found each other apart from everyone else and connected immediately. But our lives pulled us in different directions and we never saw each other again – or at least not for another eleven years.

When she returned to Chicago, I was devastated, and I know how it sounds. Marshall made sure to tell me, on multiple occasions, how insane it was to be so invested in this girl after only one night. But there was something about her. And, knowing that she wouldn’t hear me, I just couldn’t bring myself to play anymore. I quit music completely and got an office job in San Francisco.

Flashforward eleven years, I’m just sort of going through the motions. I had a couple of girlfriends, but more for company than connection. By chance, I run into Nick, who’s driving a taxi, and end up going to his birthday party after not having really spoken with any of the boys for some time. Not even Marshall. But something changed that night – or started to change. I got into a bit of an altercation with my brother and he more or less knocked some sense into me.

I went back to my guitar and inside my case was this picture of me and Lyla together. I looked her up, quit my job, and went to Chicago to find her but she wasn’t there. On a whim, I decided to go back to New York and start playing again. That was last year.

**MN** : You’re a bit of a Romantic aren’t you? How did you end up finding Lyla again?

**LC** : Yeah. Ask Marshall and he’ll tell you I’m hopeless.

Every spring, Juilliard holds a concert in Central Park. We had just played our first show together in New York as The Connelly Brothers and were heading to the airport for our flight back to San Francisco. I could hear the music playing and something about it sounded familiar, but we had a plane to catch.

But we go by one of the banners for the concert and I see her name as a featured cellist. My heart nearly stopped. I got out of the cab and ran to the park and found her in the crowd.

**MN** : I’m speechless, which is saying a lot for me. That is the kind of romance and coincidence you find in fairy tales, not real life.

**LC** : It was fate, Miranda. No coincidences. The song I heard was a piece our son had composed called ‘August’s Rhapsody’ and he was conducting it. His song is the reason I even looked at the banners.

**MN** : You’re kidding! But you didn’t know you had a son at the time, did you?

**LC** : No. Actually, for more proof of fate being at work here, earlier in the day, I walked by this kid sort of feeling the music of his guitar, busking in Washington Square. It was near where Lyla and I had first met. This kid looked kind of sad and I was drawn to him. We ended up playing together a little bit. He was extremely talented but then started saying how he attended Juilliard and had his own concert, so I thought he was a little full of it at first. But it turned out all to be true. He was mine and Lyla’s son, he attended Juilliard, and he was on stage conducting that night. I mean, what are the chances, really?

**MN** : Why hadn’t Lyla contacted you about your son? What’s the story there?

**LC** : Lyla was hit by a car about a month and a half before she was due and our son was born prematurely. Due to a mistake, Lyla was told she had lost the baby. Eleven years later, she discovered he was alive and tried her hardest to find him. The night we reunited was also the first time we both met our son.

**MN** : You seem like an honest man, so I’ll have to believe you, but that is certainly a whirlwind. How incredible! I imagine then that family is pretty important to you?

**LC** : Yeah, anything I do, Lyla and our son will always come first. That’s why I wasn’t here for the first interview.

**MN** : How was life growing up in Ireland? Did you have a close family?

**LC** : Well, I’ve always been close with Marshall of course – he was best man at my wedding – and I was close to my mom. She died when I was 9. Our dad left when I was 15. Lyla kind of filled in that missing part of me, and our son completed the package. We’re hoping to expand our family a little more in the future too.

Ireland is a beautiful place, but America was better for us and what we wanted to be.

**MN** : I thank you so much for sharing with us your story and I wish you luck with the label.

The Connelly Brothers perform regularly on Fridays and Saturdays at The Incubus and will be releasing their first album in the new year. You can also catch them opening for Of Men and Blue Bottles on November 13th at The Sunset Concert Hall.


	17. October 2008

Deep notes of trombones and tubas and bass vibrated in every corner of the vast opera house, joined by low woodwinds, the rich sound of a French horn, and, finally, the melodic lull of strings. August sat on the edge of his seat taking in all of the different instruments that he still had not played or mastered. He felt the music and studied the movements of the instruments’ experts.

Louis admired the earnestness with which he attended music. August always seemed to be learning something and, just by watching, he could figure out an instrument almost immediately. He liked to know every instrument because he liked to create symphonies. Louis, on the other hand, only had talent for guitar and words. He knew his son would be a great musical success someday… even more so than he was already.

But more than August, Louis was focused on the strings and, more specifically, on his wife who embodied what it meant to be graceful. He watched her every movement. She seemed to be dancing in a way all her own, swaying to each note she played and exposing every emotion hidden beneath the surface. Her brown waves cascaded over her bare shoulders and shone as the overhead lights seemed to focus their beams on her alone.

They had been married three and a half months, and so much had happened since. His father, the record label, the pregnancy, the miscarriage. The miscarriage had been devastating to the both of them, but more so to Lyla who cried about how she was “never going to have a normal pregnancy” and had taken more time to heal emotionally. She didn’t want to try again until at least three menstrual cycles had passed as this was a suggestion she had read about in some corner online. In some ways, she was a lot more paranoid than Louis had ever seen her. But he didn’t push her and knew she’d come back to him when she was ready.

That didn’t mean he didn’t think about her body beneath her elegant black dress, or the way she’d breathe his name through pleasure, or how she’d grip his hair to bring him closer to her. He longed to be with her again, to hear her moan and feel her squirm, yet he kept it to himself, not wanting to make her feel pressured. But there would be times where she’d catch him staring at her, wanting to be with her, and he could tell it made her feel bad. He tried to be subtle about it, but it was hard when it was her. In Louis’ eyes, she was the complete embodiment of perfection.

As the final notes sounded on the orchestra’s final song, everyone, including August and Louis, stood to applaud the talented group of musicians.

Lyla’s husband and son met her in the lobby sometime after the show. It was their final performance for the Autumn showcase, and she was happy to be done, if only to start playing new songs.

“You were wonderful,” Louis said, kissing her cheek.

She smiled and grasped his hand. “What did you think, August?”

“It was good,” August began as the trio left the opera house. He went on to explain what he enjoyed about the instruments and the styles of the musicians and the selection of music while they hailed a cab.

August would be dropped off at a friend’s house for a sleepover while Louis and Lyla would make their way to Brooklyn for Nick and Emily’s housewarming party.

Nick and Emily’s new home was a good-sized house in Gravesend. The previous owners had kept a nice, though small, front garden, which gave it some charm amongst the kitchen fumes of the neighbouring Chinese food place. Inside, the floors were a clean hardwood and everything was dated at least thirty years earlier, but it would suit the couple just fine with its three bedrooms. They liked to entertain and, more often than not, that meant people sleeping over. As it was, most of their furniture was still making its way from San Francisco to New York, so anyone wanting to stay over would have to rough it. Most of the time, the extra two bedrooms would be used by Nick for his and the band’s music and by Emily as an office since she would be telecommuting and had usually worked from home anyway.

Lyla and Louis arrived and were greeted by a large number of people who had begun drinking much earlier than the two of them. Most if not all of the people that Nick and Emily knew in New York were because of The Connelly Brothers. Other bands and their partners and friends were at the party and were more or less cut from the same mold.

As a possibly unnecessary caution, Lyla had given up alcohol completely (not that she ever drank much). In her mind, she thought the lack of alcohol might help when she and Louis tried to conceive again. But she wasn’t sure how she’d cope with everyone else being blasted while she remained sober. She’d manage though. For Louis. If she said she wanted to go, they would, but it wouldn’t be fair to him when she had her way with so many other things in the past couple of months.

They walked into the house, which, despite the missing furniture, was crowded. Furniture would’ve only made it worse. Some people had brought foldable lawn chairs with them while others sat on the floor. Bottles and cans in various states of emptiness were neatly placed around the edges of the living room, hall, and kitchen, careful to not be knocked over by stumbling feet. People streamed into the backyard and spare bedrooms as well, shouting and laughing and drinking.

“Louie!” Marshall’s voice carried over the other voices, causing more than a few eyes to turn to and greet Louis and Lyla. From seemingly nowhere, he produced two bottles and handed one each to Louis and Lyla.

“She’s not drinking—” Louis began.

“No, it’s fine,” Lyla cut in.

“’Atta girl,” Marshall grinned. “There’s food in th’ kitchen if yer hungry. Nick an’ Emily are around somewhere.” Something caught his eye, he shouted, and he left the two behind.

“You’re sure?” Louis asked, something like hope or relief – Lyla wasn’t sure – in his voice.

Lyla smiled and nodded, not sure she would be loud enough for him to hear her. She wasn’t sure she’d actually drink it until she saw Maya near the kitchen talking to a couple of girls Lyla didn’t know. She wore a form fitting pencil skirt that highlighted the bump that grew her and Marshall’s child, reminding Lyla of a time when they were supposed to be pregnant together. Of course, she had seen other pregnant women in public and coped, but she hadn’t seen Maya since her wedding and it was strange for someone she knew (even a little bit) to be pregnant without her. She wasn’t sure she would need the drink, but it was nice to have it just in case.

“We can leave if you want,” Louis said, close to her ear so she could hear him.

She shook her head, “absolutely not.” She touched his arm and they parted ways to mingle, Louis with his band mates and Lyla with Maya.

When Maya spotted Lyla walking over to her, she smiled wide and brought her in for a hug. “Lyla, it’s so nice to see you!”

Lyla awkwardly affirmed it was nice to see Maya as well, finding that her mind was more preoccupied with the baby bump between them.

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” Maya said, taking Lyla by the arm and leading her into the kitchen. They sat at the table, which, along with its chairs, was one of the few things of Nick and Emily’s that had been delivered on time. When they were more or less alone, Maya leaned in close and said, “Marshall told me what happened. The miscarriage, I mean.”

The word ‘miscarriage’ said by someone outside of herself and Louis felt like a punch to the gut.

The effect must have been visible on Lyla’s face because Maya quickly rested her hand on Lyla’s arm and continued. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. And I know it’s kind of a slap in the face to see me here. I debated coming but—”

“No, it’s fine,” Lyla assured her.

Maya nodded. “I actually—Well, I miscarried once a couple years back, so I sort of understand what you’re going through.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Except I think it’s probably different for you. I wasn’t thinking about having children at all. I became pregnant and thought it was this giant mistake and cried for a few days. But I started to like the idea a little bit and began thinking of all the possibilities when I woke up in the middle of the night one night, cramping and bleeding. Then after, things just seemed different. I’d see a very pregnant woman and wonder what it felt like or feel jealousy or any number of other emotions. It took me a bit of time to get back to my old self. The point is: if you want to talk about it or anything with someone who has been in a similar spot, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Lyla said, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “It’s been hard for me.” Maya took hold of Lyla’s one hand. “It’s just—I don’t know if you know about my last pregnancy, but I thought I lost him. August, I mean. He was given up for adoption, but I thought he was dead. Then I’d see kids with their moms – kids his age – and I would feel the loss all over again. And this is like that. I see you and your belly and can’t help thinking that’s where I should be right now, but I’m not. And I want to try again, but if it—the miscarriage—happened again, I don’t know if I could take it.”

“Lyla, I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. It won’t happen again, but if it did, you would get through it again. You have a husband and son who adore you and would do anything for you, as far as I can tell, and with that support, you’ll be fine.”

Lyla took a gulp of the beer Marshall had handed her. “I’ve been awful to Louis. He’s been so supportive and careful, and I’ve just been a paranoid mess.”

“Everyone can see how he looks at you. Trust me, he doesn’t mind.”

Lyla spent most of the night talking with and getting to know Maya, who was a lot nicer than the image that Lyla had created in her mind. In the end, Lyla decided to have a night of drinking and letting loose, leaving Maya to be the sober one instead of her.

They were later joined at the kitchen table by Emily and a couple of other ladies that Lyla would have run into a couple of times at Connelly Brothers gigs. Together, they chatted and drank and ate, and Lyla felt completely out of her element. She had never been that kind of person, but she was enjoying it.

Several drinks and shots later, and a large number of attendees gone, Lyla was sure she was drunker than she had ever been. Everything seemed to be snapshots of moments quickly forgotten as something new happened. But she felt light and a lot less burdened than she had for the last few months.

“Truth or dare?” Maya asked the group of ladies. Though completely sober, she seemed to enjoy the spectacle in front of her.

“Truth or dare?” Emily repeated. “Are we twelve?”

“Yes,” Maya replied. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth or dare to you,” one of the other girls, Chelsea, slurred.

“Truth,” Maya said simply.

There was a moment’s pause as someone thought of something to ask. “Alright,” Emily said, leaning in close. “Just how good is Marshall in bed?”

The group of girls cackled delightedly. Maybe they were twelve after all.

Maya smiled slyly, taking a sip of her coke. “Well… he certainly knows his way around a woman’s body,” she rubbed her belly, which caused another round of loud giggles.

“Oi! Shut it!” Marshall’s voice sounded from the other room.

“He’s very generous,” Maya whispered loudly.

The girlish laughter brought Marshall to the kitchen, jokingly telling them off, which only led to more drunken laughs and him stalking away with a “bloody females!”

“Lyla,” Maya said. “Truth or dare?”

“No,” Lyla shook her head. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Truth or dare, Lyla?” she repeated, the others echoing her in shrill squeals.

She held her hands out in front of her, “okay! Truth.”

“Okay,” one of the other girls, Nadia, began. “Louis is like the complete opposite of Marshall and you’re… you.”

Maya and Emily protested, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean you both seem pretty vanilla, so I just want to know: how often do you actually have sex? I mean, I want to know a lot more, but…”

“Usually every couple of nights,” Lyla started, “but—”

“Really? That’s more than I would’ve thought. But is it _good_ sex?”

“Wait. You said 'but'. But what?”

Lyla sighed, “we haven’t been together since the middle of August.”

“What?” Nadia and Chelsea shrieked. “Why?”

“It’s none of your business,” Maya cut in, shutting them down. “Nadia, truth or dare?”

The girls continued their preteen nostalgia trip, revealing secrets, drinking, and completing dares, which mostly consisted of more drinking, until Lyla decided she had had enough. As one of the girls – she wasn’t sure which one any longer – was in the midst of drinking some alcoholic concoction created by Maya as part of a dare, Lyla pushed her chair back without a word and shuffled into the living room, wanting to see what Louis and the boys were up to, and more so wanting to sleep.

Her ears were ringing from noise and lowered inhibitions, and everything felt like she was seeing it in a dream. In the living room, the TV had been hooked up and was playing something Lyla couldn’t make out. A couple of partygoers were passed out in camping chairs or on the floor, while Marshall seemed to be engaged in some sort of drinking game with a few others. Louis was halfway involved, throwing a playing card into their midst occasionally, but he was mostly watching the television as he lay on the floor, his head propped up on his jacket while he took an occasional sip from the bottle that he held on his stomach.

“Lookin’ a little red in th’ face there, Lyla,” Marshall bellowed, his volume control lost in drink and his accent strong.

Lyla motioned his comment away with a flourish of her hand, but said nothing, causing Marshall and the witnesses to guffaw. She knelt at Louis’ head and rested her hands on either side of his face before leaning over him and kissing him sensually. Marshall and the others hollered at the spectacle before Lyla shifted so that Louis’ head was resting on her instead of his jacket, and they watched TV together. Without any sort of pattern, Lyla ran her fingers through Louis’ hair, twirling and smoothing the little strands, and sending Louis to sleep.

Lyla was beginning to doze herself when she was startled awake by what she thought was an unnecessarily loud voice. “I’m going to head home.” Lyla turned her head to see Maya with a light coat on and her purse over her shoulder.

“No, you’re not,” Marshall responded, getting up. “It’s two in the mornin’. You’ll be murdered walkin’ alone here. And it’ll take ages. Jus’ stay th’ night here.”

“I can’t,” Maya said in a low voice that sounded almost pleading. “I can’t sleep on the floor.”

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the two. “Fine, then you’ll stay wit’ me at mine,” he resolved, searching for his jacket.

“You know,” she said, watching him search, “I’ve gone home at this time from further places loads of times without any trouble.”

“Yeah, but y’ weren’t carryin’ my kid then. Where is my goddamn jacket?”

“So, it was okay if I was murdered before, but not now?” Maya joked, taking Marshall’s jacked off of a nearby chair and tossing it to him.

“Right.” He slipped his jacket on. “I’ll see ya boys later.”

Soon after Marshall left, the partygoers who were staying the night started to fall asleep in various places around the house. Nick and Emily had gone to bed ages ago, exhausted from moving, so any leftover space was up for grabs. Appearing to be the only one left awake aside from Louis, Lyla took it upon herself to sway to the front and back doors, checking they were locked; she turned the TV off and lights off as well, before laying down next to Louis. He had folded his jacket into a pillow again, supporting his head while using his arm as a means of supporting Lyla’s. The floor was not comfortable in any way, shape or form, and it was cool without blankets of any sort, but they fell asleep easily in each other’s arms.

Lyla woke a couple hours later, her mouth feeling dry and her head pounding, but it was still dark out. The greying morning light was starting to seep in through the windows, but it certainly wasn’t late enough to start the day. Yet, she felt wide awake, if still a bit drunk, and in desperate need of Louis.

Her head was resting on his left shoulder. She sat up slowly, feeling every ache from being on the hardwood floor, and studied Louis’ sleeping face. He was beautiful and serene and probably exhausted, but she hadn’t had him in so long and he hadn’t had her, and she ached for him as impure thoughts made their home in her imagination. Oblivious to the other sleeping shapes in the room, Lyla hiked up the skirt of her dress and sat on top of her husband. Still mostly asleep, he reacted on instinct with his hands moving to rest on Lyla’s knees with a soft groan. She leaned over him and pressed her lips softly to his neck and then his jaw and then his lips, which he took in earnest.

Louis pulled away and opened his eyes to see Lyla looking down at him, a look of wanting in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in months. He ran his hands under her skirt, feeling the soft skin of her thighs that he had missed.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

Lyla nodded and drew him into another kiss of desperate longing.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, noting the discomfort caused by the floor, and gently pushed Lyla back. “Not here.” He stood and drew Lyla up along with him and, for the first time, she noticed the people sleeping around them.

Louis led Lyla down the hall in search of privacy. Both spare bedrooms had closed doors and, rather than risk interrupting another couple, they opted to go to the end of the hallway where the bathroom was. At least they’d have a lock on their door.

As Louis closed and locked the door, Lyla ran her hands under his shirt, wanting him close to her. He turned to face her and they paused a moment to take each other in, feeling one another’s bodies and kissing exposed skin.

“I’m sorry,” Lyla said, pulling away for a moment, feeling guilty for having kept him at a distance the past couple of months.

But Louis simply shook his head and drew her back to him. He untied the halter top of her dress, exposing her breasts. He had missed her breasts – the soft suppleness and small weight when he cupped them in his hands – and he had missed her skin and her fervent breaths and the power with which she acted when they were in the heat of the moment.

“Louis,” she breathed. “I need you.” And while she stepped back to remove her underclothes, Louis frantically undid his belt and zipper, removing what needed removing. Before he had time to think, Lyla was back in his arms with desperate desire for his body and hers to be joined.

Louis lifted Lyla with ease. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he slid into her easily, her moans and his mixed in euphoria. Losing all sense of their environment, Louis pushed Lyla against the bathroom door and thrust into her with an eager restlessness mimicking an animal in heat. Lyla entwined her fingers in his hair, her head flung back with the satisfaction of being with him again. Louis ran his lips and tongue over her chest and her shoulders and her neck and any bare skin he could find, feeling the tension building in both his body and Lyla’s. Usually, he would take his time and they would be romantic and loving, but not now. They had missed each other too much. It was only impulse and urgency that moved them now.

“Lyla,” Louis whispered between grunts.

Lyla moaned in response, feeling the screaming voice inside her rising as she got closer and closer to climax. Then a wave of ecstasy washed over her as she lost all control of her body, shaking and spasming and whimpering.

Louis, fuelled by the contractions from Lyla’s body and the half-controlled muted cries she emitted, followed suit a moment later, pouring himself inside her.

They remained still for a moment, Louis’ head resting on Lyla’s shoulder, the last of Lyla’s convulsions waning. While the moment, in reality, had been quite quick, a lot had happened both physically and mentally. Both felt overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he responded.

They cleaned themselves up as best they could, gathered their belongings, and crept out of the house, sure that someone must have heard them in their throes of passion. Both of them felt weightless following their release. Louis felt relief and excitement at having Lyla back while Lyla questioned why she had been so cautious in the first place and felt extreme bliss.

It was still very early with few cars on the roads and few people other than a jogger. The October morning was cool and both Louis and Lyla were underdressed for the weather that allowed them to see their breath. Lyla had her arm wrapped around Louis’ as they walked slowly to the nearest subway station, both in desperate need of sleep and too tired to try and find a cab. They road the train for an hour, both slipping in and out of consciousness, Lyla wrapped in Louis’ jacket, his arm draped over her.

Back out in the light, the rising sun was beginning to cast long shadows on the city. Louis and Lyla, zombies in the morning air, shuffled quickly to their home where they promptly fell asleep fully clothed.

* * *

 

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Lyla and Louis were startled awake and shot up, glancing around before seeing the source that was Marshall holding a silver pot and metal ladle, crashing them together obnoxiously.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauties,” he said loudly.

Louis fell back into his bed while Lyla swung her legs off the side, a headache radiating through her temples. “Marshall, what d’you want?”

Laughter could be heard in the hallway.

“You forget you had a son?”

“What? He wasn’t supposed to come back until this afternoon.”

“It’s after one, baby bro. Your kid didn’t have his key and his parents weren’t answering the phone so the best uncle and brother and brother-in-law – remember that for Christmas – came to the rescue. Now I’m goin’ back home.” He threw down the pot and ladle on the bed before exiting the room, saying his goodbyes to August, and leaving the apartment.

“August,” Louis called, rolling out of bed and stumbling towards the living room. “Sorry, man,” Louis said, falling onto the couch next to his son whose guitar was already on his lap. “Your mam and I were at Nick’s pretty late. I guess we needed more sleep than we thought.”

“That’s okay,” August said, playing a few notes. “Uncle Marshall took me out for some lunch and we saw my friend Arthur from before I knew you. He was playing his music in the park so I got to talk to him.”

“From the boy’s home?”

“No, from when I came to the city. I told you and mom about him.”

“Ah,” Louis nodded, vaguely remembering something. “He alright?”

August shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. The same.” His fingers picked delicately at the guitar strings.

Louis watched for a moment, smiling. “I’m going to have a quick shower and get rid of this bad breath, then I’ll come join you, yeah?”

August smiled and played some quickly trilled notes in response as Louis went off to force himself out of the hangover daze that threatened to plague his day.

 


	18. December 2008

_Christmas Day 2008_

When Lyla was a girl in Chicago, her father would host a Christmas dinner every year. She and her father would attend a Christmas Eve party at someone’s home the night before, and then the next afternoon would be spent sharing cocktails with a meal in the evening cooked by hired caterers.

More often than not, there would be some sort of guest of honour – someone who couldn’t be home for the holidays that Thomas Novacek wanted to impress by making them ‘feel at home’. The dinners were usually attended by the same upper class people and they rarely had any children, so Lyla often felt out of place.

Lyla’s dad would give her a gift before bed on Christmas Eve and there wouldn’t be much else in terms of quality family time.

When Louis was a boy in Cork, his mother would always insist upon opening presents at ungodly hours on Christmas Day as a family. They would then spend the day together before attending a roast dinner at the nearby pub for which they’d book tickets at the beginning of the month. Molly Connelly loved celebrating Christmas. After she died, Christmas no longer existed for all intents and purposes. If Louis and Marshall felt up to it, they’d go down to the pub for the dinner, but otherwise it was just a day off from school. They never exchanged gifts because they didn’t have money of their own and when their father left and they did have their own money, they didn’t have enough to spend on gifts.

Both Lyla and Louis wanted August to think fondly on Christmas, especially seeing as his early years were spent in a boys’ home. Their first Christmas with August, they started a morning tradition: waking up at an ungodly hour to exchange gifts, followed by the making and consuming of pancakes, completed with a nap in the living room as they were lulled to sleep by the soothing melodies of Christmas music. It was a peaceful way to celebrate the day. But Lyla, in a fit of ambition, decided that she wanted to host a dinner for their friends and family as well.

So, for their second Christmas together, they invited their friends and family over to their suddenly too-small apartment. They had to move their living room furniture into the master bedroom so that the long rented table and folding chairs could fit, albeit at an angle.

Lyla, Louis, and August cleaned and cooked and readied themselves in the morning so that by two o’clock, when the guests arrived, everything would be ready to go. And that was good because when they did arrive, Christmas went from peaceful to boisterous in a snap.

Marshall and Maya arrived with Brian and Steve along with his daughter, Sarah, who was a little younger than August. Maya had ballooned up since Lyla had last seen her a month ago at one of The Connelly Brothers shows. At nearly seven months, her belly looked much bigger than Lyla’s had been at that time. But she still looked like a goddess, wearing a form-fitting Christmas dress of red and silver, and looking perfectly done up. The only difference from how she usually dressed was that she no longer wore heels, opting instead for sparkly flats.

She looked mildly irritated but smiled wide as Lyla greeted her. “It smells so good!” She held up a bottle of red wine. “I bring you wine so that I can live through all of you.”

“D’you think your apartment is going to be able to fit us all?” Marshall asked as the women disappeared into the kitchen, eyeing the table set up in place of their sofa. It was set diagonally across the room, unable to fit straight one way or the other. Chairs surrounded the long table, enough for twelve, though only eleven would be at dinner. A deep red table cloth with images of snowflakes was draped over the table and an elaborate piece consisting of garland and candles ran down the centre. With the Christmas tree in the corner, there was just enough room for people to take their seats. But not enough for much else. “Christ, where’s your furniture?”

“In our bedroom,” Louis grinned. “Don’t tell Lyla what you think, yeah?” He clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s get a drink.”

The others – Nick and Emily, and Lyla’s father, who seemed wary about the company his daughter kept – arrived soon after.

Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and other greats serenaded the guests with various renditions of popular Christmas songs. Drinks were served before dinner – mostly wine – and the guests, who had chosen their respective seats, chatted brightly with those around them. Maya, who sat near the end of the table for easy bathroom access, sat next to Marshall. Although Lyla wouldn’t say anything, it was clear that they had developed a relationship beyond friends and it wasn’t solely to do with their shared parentage of the soon-to-be child. Maya spent a lot more time staying at Marshall’s place and attending events usually only frequented by significant others. They also seemed to have moments of tenderness and bitterness in equal parts. As it was, they weren’t talking to each other. Marshall talked across the table to Nick or Brian while Maya sat back silently, trading occasional conversation with Lyla in the kitchen.

August sat next to Marshall, having a musical conversation with his grandfather who sat on his right, followed by Steve and his daughter, who took the place at the head of the table. Brian and Nick, followed by Emily sat on the other side of the table, the last spaces held for Louis and Lyla, who wanted ease of access for food preparation.

As the guests chatted with one another, Lyla and Louis worked in the kitchen, the latter following instructions from the former. He took a four-bean casserole in a white square dish along with a large bowl of creamed corn into the living room to set on the table while Lyla finished up with the gravy. As she prepared to pour from the pot into the gravy boat, a strange, familiar, nearly-forgotten sensation washed over her. She set the pot back on the stove top and rested her hand on her stomach, counting back and feeling her pulse pick up speed.

“Right, what next?” Louis said as he re-entered the kitchen, searching for something else to take out so that he could start eating.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, spinning around to face him, careful to keep her voice low.

“What?” He was perplexed by his wife’s sudden revelation.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer to keep anyone from overhearing.

“I—when did you find out?” he asked slowly.

“I haven’t taken a test yet. I just know.”

“How?”

Lyla shook her head. “I can’t explain it. But I’m sure of it. It’s the same way I felt with August.”

Louis didn’t know what to say. He looked at her flat stomach and gently rested his hand over hers. It might’ve been his imagination – it almost certainly was – but he felt like he knew what she was talking about. There was… something – like a hunch but more than that and it told him that she was right. He placed his hands gently on either side of her face and kissed her sweetly. “You are.”

She nodded furiously, grinning wide and kissed him again.

“Louis, quit kissin’ your wife and finish bringin’ the food so we can eat!” Brian shouted, followed by laughter and echoed sentiments. 

Louis kissed her quickly on her forehead and they brought the rest of the food out to the guests.

* * *

 

“How are you feeling?” Lyla asked Maya part way through the meal. Marshall and Louis were involved in a conversation with the others about an upcoming gig New Year’s Eve and Maya had set her fork down, looking a little less than comfortable.

She shook her head, “I’m fine. Just feeling full.”

Judging by the amount of food left on her plate, Lyla doubted that. But not one to pry, she changed the subject. “I love your dress. And the shoes you—”

She was cut off by an inexplicable sob from Maya whose hands flew to her face as she began crying.

Lyla was taken aback, surprised by the outburst from someone who was usually quite positive. “I’m sorry!”

Maya shook her head and waved her away but continued sobbing audibly.

“What on Earth did you say to her?” Marshall asked while everyone else at the table looked on, all conversation ceased. Seeing Lyla was as confounded as he was, he said “what’s the matter, girl?”

Maya sobbed harder.

“Okay.” Lyla stood from her chair and took Maya’s wrist. “Come with me.”

Maya didn’t hesitate; she stood and followed.

Lyla brought her into the master bedroom and sat her on the visiting sofa. “I don’t know what I said, but I’m so sorry. What’s wrong?”

Maya shook her head and said, between sobs, “you didn’t… say… anything. I’m s-sorry!” She took a deep breath while Lyla sat next to her, rubbing her back until her sobs subsided. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m just so uncomfortable. This dress is beautiful, but it’s the worst. It’s so tight and I’m so big, and I feel like I’m sausage meat stuffed into a casing. I’m fat and my feet are swollen and it feels hard to breathe. I’m so big. I have my own orbit. Everyone thinks I’m due any day and I still have two months of this left! My back hurts and I haven’t been sleeping well—It’s just everything. I hate being pregnant!” She felt the sobs building again and calmed herself. “Marshall told me that this dress was a bad choice and it made me mad and he was right and that just makes me more mad! And I haven’t had sex in months but the thought of it makes my skin crawl.” She dropped her head into her hands and wept freely once more.

Lyla suppressed a smile and waited until Maya calmed herself again, trying to grasp all the different things that were listed. She rubbed her back slowly until Maya could calm down.

Maya groaned once the tears had dried. “I can’t believe I cried in front of everyone. How ridiculous am I?”

Lyla shook her head. “Not ridiculous. Pregnant.”

Maya chuckled. “Very pregnant,” she agreed.

“I have an idea,” Lyla said, standing and walking to her dresser. From the bottom drawer, she withdrew a large black t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. She set them next to Maya. “Put these on. The shirt was Louis’ but I liked it so much that he handed it down to me. It’s soft. The pajama pants are old but I wore them when I was pregnant with August and they were amazing. I didn’t carry as close to the front as you are, but they might help.”

Maya looked genuinely relieved, “thank you.”

While Maya dressed, Lyla found her some tissue and took her docking station from the master bath. She set it up in the bedroom to play soothing nature sounds and spa music – the type Lyla would listen to during a nice bath.

“How do you feel now?” Lyla asked after Maya was changed.

“Like I can breathe again.”

“Good. Take a nap or just relax. Our bed is very comfortable. I’ll keep the music on to drown out the others for you and I’ll close the curtains to make it dark. The bathroom is free for anything you need. If you want to take a bath, go for it. I’ll save you pie.”

Maya smiled, “make sure it’s pumpkin.” She curled into the bed, ready to fall asleep immediately. As Lyla was leaving, she said, “you’re a good person, Lyla.”

Lyla smiled and gently closed the door behind her.

“Is she alright?” Marshall’s voice asked, startling Lyla enough to make her jump. “Sorry.”

“She’s okay,” Lyla assured him. “Just tired. She’s going to take a nap.”

Marshall nodded. “I’m just going to talk to her first.”

“Don’t upset her,” Lyla warned and Marshall waved his hand at her before entering the room.

Back in the living room, Lyla sat down to finish her food, assuring everyone that Maya was fine and was simply affected by hormones. All was well.

Dinner finished, the first wave of dishes loaded into the dishwasher; everyone took a break to chat and drink and create room for dessert; pies and cookies were had to the enjoyment of everyone. But throughout all of this, Marshall hadn’t reappeared.

Marshall had gone into Louis and Lyla’s room to check on the woman carrying his child. She had been in a state all day after he made a comment about her choice of dress. Maya liked wearing form-fitting clothes – and Marshall liked seeing her wear form-fitting clothes – but the occasion and her complaints of discomfort suggested that the wearing of such a dress was, well, stupid. But she wasn’t wearing the dress anymore. She had on a black t-shirt that Marshall was sure he’d seen Louis wear often and her arms were wrapped around a combination of blankets and pillows.

He plopped himself in the bed next to her.

She opened her eyes and sighed. “God.”

“Close. Y’alright?”

“I feel so stupid. Fucking hormones. I cried in front of everyone. Who does that?”

Marshall grinned. “You, apparently. You tired?”

Maya nodded. “Lyla gave me some comfortable clothes—I don’t even want to hear about you being right—and this music is very relaxing, so I’m going to nap.”

“I’ll stick around for a bit.”

A few hours later, as guests were leaving, Marshall and Maya were still fast asleep in Louis and Lyla’s bed. Maya was on her side, a tangle of arms, legs, pillows and blankets; she faced Marshall, breathing slow and deep. Marshall, on the other hand, lay starfished on his back, completely dishevelled; his right hand was resting on Maya’s belly while he snored, loud and steady as his left hand and leg dangled off the bed.

Lyla insisted that she and Louis let them sleep for a little while longer. Together, along with August, they cleaned up the table and chairs along with the leftover food.

They set up pillows and blankets on various foldable chairs to create some sort of sofa to relax on temporarily. Until ‘temporarily’ turned into ten o’clock and August was off to bed with Louis and Lyla sprawled out on the floor.

“It’s been, what, six hours? We can kick them t’ the curb without feeling guilty I think.”

“Don’t you dare. Maya needs the sleep. We don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow. The floor is as good a place as any. At least we have pillows and blankets this time.”

Louis groaned. “If I can’t get up in the morning, it’s on you.”

They fell asleep to their last Christmas movie of the season while Marshall and Maya continued their monopoly of the master bedroom.

Marshall awoke to a dark room and the sound of thundershowers. He took inventory of his surroundings – Maya and his kid next to him, a very comfortable bed, rain. The disorientation started to fade away. Christmas. Dinner. Sleep. He fished in his jeans pocket for his phone. Low battery. 3:24 AM. He counted back. He had slept for nearly twelve hours. He felt fantastic. Marshall couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so soundly. Lyla was onto something with shitty spa music and nature sounds. But he’d have to be at work in an hour and a half.

“Maya,” he murmured.

“Hm.”

“I have to get to work. Are you gonna stay or come back to my place?”

“Mmm.”

Taking that to mean she’d stay, he said, “right. I’ll see you later then.”

He left Maya in her oasis and crept out into the darkened hallway. There was a soft flashing light coming from the living room. The TV was on the lowest possible volume as some black and white movie played. On the floor, Louis and Lyla lay in a mound of blankets and pillows. Marshall pulled on his boots, grabbed his jacket, and left, planning to stop at home before going to work a twelve-hour shift.

But when his shift ended at five in the afternoon and the two new hires didn’t show, leaving the team short, Marshall agreed to stay to cover their shift. Holiday pay plus major overtime meant for a good paycheck; he’d need some with the baby coming. He was hoping to get a managerial position soon too, so he worked harder than anyone else. If the label stuff went anywhere, it wouldn’t be for a while yet. So, dreams of grandeur would have to wait while he laboured.

Feeling irritated and zombie-like, Marshall returned home at ten in the morning of the 27th to loud Latin pop and an overpowering scent of lemon.

“Stop!” Maya shouted as Marshall walked in the door. She stood up from where she was kneeling and grabbed a couple of towels that were draped over the futon. Cantering barefoot to Marshall, she laid the towels down in front of him, leading from the door to the futon like a red carpet.

“What in the world…”

“Just don’t step on the floor. Towels only,” she spoke loudly, over the music.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, “what are you doing?” He carefully made his way to his bed.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I thought I’d clean up for you. And then it turned into this.”

“D’you think you could stop? I doubt the fumes are good for you. And I’d like to sleep.”

She shook her head and got back on her hands and knees, working on a little spot that was less shiny than the rest. “I’m almost done.”

“At least turn that shit off then,” he said, harsher than he intended, the sleep deprivation keeping him from his usually light mood.

She stood again, tiptoed to the kitchenette and turned the radio off before resuming her place on the floor.

Marshall fell asleep to the soft sound of cloth on hardwood.

He woke a short time later to the smell of grease and peppers and cheese mixing with the fainter lemon scent. He felt groggy and disoriented and annoyed. And hungry.

“I thought you’d be hungry, so I ordered some pizza.”

He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. “Christ.” He went to stand before pausing, “can I walk on my own floor now?”

“Yeah, it’s done. Doesn’t it look so much better?”

Marshall simply shrugged, not caring one way or the other, and walked to the kitchen table. He sat down, his head resting on his one hand while his other fed a slice of pizza into his mouth, slow bite by slow bite. After his first slice, he felt a bit better – less moody anyway. “Why?” he asked, flourishing his hand around the room.

Maya seemed to think for a moment. “I was talking to Lyla after you left their place…”

“And what did my lovely sister-in-law say to you?” he asked sardonically.

“No, she was just asking about… how it’s going to work. You, me, and the baby. But I realised that I don’t actually know what I’m doing. I absolutely will not live at home with all the comments that are already being made and—”

“Are you not movin’ in here?”

“I didn’t know if that was an option. Or how it’s going to work. Which is why I think I was cleaning. Stress.”

“’Course you’re movin’ in here. You’re havin’ my son. Where else would y’go?”

“But… isn’t this place a little small for three people? There’s no privacy. And what about taking someone home? That’s not going to work with a baby.”

“Why do they have to come back here? Just go over to their place instead. We can’t afford a new place and a baby. I’m not going to move to a new place just to be more comfortable.”

Maya considered this and then nodded. “Okay. When?”

“When can you move in? Sooner the better, don’t you think?” He threw down a half-eaten piece of pizza. “I’m goin’ t’ lose my mind. I need sleep. Wake me up in a few hours?” He walked over to the futon and transformed it from the sofa into a bed. Once he laid down, he fell asleep almost instantly.

Maya cleaned up the pizza and put leftovers in the fridge before squeezing onto the futon next to Marshall to have an afternoon nap.


	19. March 2009

_March 2009_

Louis, Lyla, and August returned to their home late one Thursday evening following the opening night of a modern series of Philharmonic performances featuring modern compositions with some of the world’s most famous conductors. Lyla had been one of the key performers (along with several other Philharmonic members). After the performance, there was a meet and greet event that musicians had to attend followed by a party of sorts. Lyla stayed for the meet and greet, and the three of them made an appearance at the party before slipping away home. After all, August had school the next day (that’s what they’d tell anyone who asked – it was better than saying they had no desire to stay for the party).

August was immediately sent to bed humming whichever tune had happened to make itself home in his head. Louis got ready for bed as well while Lyla grabbed a quick snack first.

Louis was in bed with the lights still on as he waited for Lyla, humming a song of his own that he had been working on. His fingers moved unconsciously as he considered the guitar’s melody and rhythm.

Lyla, having turned off the lights and checked the locks in the rest of the apartment, closed the bedroom door behind her and smiled at the sight and sound of her husband. “I like that.”

He seemed to only just realise she was there and stopped what he was doing. “I’m just not sure if it should be a slower one or faster. It would work either way but—” He shrugged.

“Can you unzip me?” she asked. He did so without hesitation. “I think you should have something with a fast tempo. You already have a lot of slower songs.”

The dress unzipped, he quickly kissed her neck and returned to bed. “You’re probably right.” He absent-mindedly continued humming his song, but his attention was focused on the woman in front of him.

She wasn’t aware that she was being watched, but he thought that every move was graceful regardless. Lyla stepped out of the dress and draped it over her vanity chair. Standing in her black bra and pantyhose as she removed her jewelry and bobby pins, Louis took her in. She had always been beautiful, especially to him, but in the last couple of months as her belly began to grow, his love for her seemed enhanced and she seemed to radiate beauty in every single thing that she did. “You’re so beautiful.”

Lyla had removed the makeup on her one eye and thought it gave her a Picasso look. She laughed. “If you think I’m beautiful in this state, then you must really love me.”

Louis chuckled, “I do.”

She walked to him with her half made up face and drew him into a kiss. “I love you too.” She could feel Louis watching her as she returned to her routine. When her makeup was removed, her face was washed, and her teeth brushed, and when she had changed into loose-fitting PJs, she turned off the lights and crawled into bed next to Louis who wrapped his arms protectively around her middle, and they fell asleep.

In Brooklyn, however, Marshall and Maya were not experiencing the same peace.

At around two in the morning, a couple hours before Marshall had to be up for work, Maya was shaking him awake to tell him that her contractions had started and that her water had broken. She had waddled around the room with the occasional contraction-induced pause as Marshall threw necessities into a duffel bag following Maya’s orders. They made their way to the front street, caught a cab, and got to the hospital in no time. Maya was brought to a room in the Maternity Ward where nurses checked on her health along with the baby’s and asked her a barrage of questions. Marshall took this opportunity to call out of work for the first time in his life.

Her contractions continued but the dilation was slow. When they arrived, she was at three centimetres. It wasn’t until the sun was in the sky that she got to four. Marshall walked with Maya on his arm around the room and halls to try and move it along. It was nearly twelve hours from when the contractions started that she was told she had hit six centimetres.

“This kid better fucking be worth it,” she muttered after another set of contractions plagued her. Quickly, though, her expression changed from one of anger to something else.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think it’s almost time.” Another contraction washed over her. “Get a nurse.”

He did as he was told and the nurse confirmed that she was fully dilated. In a snap, the doctor and various other healthcare workers got to work. Marshall stayed as close to Maya’s bed as he could if only to stay out of everyone’s way.

“Marshall,” Maya whimpered. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Marshall affirmed. “You don’t have a choice, darlin’.”

“Okay Maya,” the doctor said, now prepared. “We’re going to start pushing.”

Active labour lasted a few hours but seemed to pass in a blur to both Maya and Marshall. Suddenly, this small crying human was lying on Maya’s chest while the doctor and nurses rushed around completing various tasks that Marshall took no notice of.

The baby was alien-like: a weirdly shaped head and flat face, all covered in goo – ugly, to be frank, but he was also a thing of pure magnificence and beauty. He was Marshall’s. And Marshall’s heart was instantly filled with more love than he ever thought possible. A nurse took the baby while Maya passed the afterbirth. He was weighed and measured and cleaned before being wrapped up and passed to Marshall who stood cooing and whispering to his child.

“Marshall.”

Maya shifted so that Marshall could sit next to her somewhat comfortably, and they sat admiring the son they had created.

It was late Saturday afternoon when they were discharged and arrived home to figure out how a baby fit into the scheme of things. And as it turned out, he did not fit in well. From leaving the hospital to arriving home, he had not stopped crying. They had tried feeding him, burping him, changing him, rocking him, and any number of other things they could think of to calm him, but they couldn’t figure it out.

The apartment bathroom had an old fan that Marshall never got around to fixing; it still did what it was supposed to do but it made a godawful noise when running. This was their only reprieve from the crying baby. They would take turns having time outs in the bathroom with the fan running and music playing to drown out the sound of unexplained crying while the other parent would continue trying everything to comfort their child.

On Sunday afternoon, Lyla, Louis, and August visited. Neither Marshall nor Maya had much sleep outside of their timeouts and had thrown all modesty out the door as they struggled to keep from going insane. Maya walked around in nothing but what was essentially an adult diaper, feeling like a dog with her breasts hanging out for her baby to suckle whenever he was willing, while a half-naked Marshall paced frantically around the room with his son, trying different dramatic techniques that he searched for online. He had forgotten that he okayed a visit until the buzzer was notifying them that someone was there.

“Shit,” Marshall said. “I forgot I told Louis they could come see us.”

Maya shook her head. “No.” And disappeared into the bathroom, turning the fan and music on.

Marshall sighed, irritated, and buzzed their guests in without a word. A minute later, they were knocking at the door. “It’s open!” Marshall was on attempt five hundred of trying to comfort his son.

Heavy rock music assaulted Lyla’s ears as she entered the small studio apartment with her husband and son. In his underwear, Marshall was on the floor with his son and laptop trying to swaddle the baby apparently based on some online instructions, which just seemed to make the ear-piercing cries even louder.

“Marshall!” Louis called over the cacophony.

Marshall threw down the corner of the blanket he was working with and picked the kid up again. “We’ve been tryin’ everythin’ and he won’t stop. I’m going out of my fuckin’ mind.”

“Where’s Maya?” Lyla asked.

“Bathroom.”

“We brought you some food,” she said, holding up some paper bags of what Marshall hoped was something greasy and comforting. “I’ll take—did you say his name was Matty?”

Marshall nodded, “well, Mateo, after Maya’s da. But Hell if I’m callin’ him that.” Without hesitation, he had handed the baby to Lyla. “Mateo Patrick Zevallos-Connelly. Thanks.” He took the paper bag of food and disappeared into the bathroom without a second look.

Lyla and Louis exchanged a look. “I think that’s more than a bathroom,” Louis said.

Lyla smiled and looked down at her nephew. She thought that the nose and shape of the face confirmed that little Matty was definitely Marshall’s son. He was certainly as loud as his father anyway. She danced with him around the small space, trying to lull him into peace while straightening up with the help of Louis and August.

Every time Mateo paused to catch his breath, Lyla’s heart leapt, thinking that he might finally be done. But he would continue, and Lyla didn’t know why. She worried about when it would be her turn – if this would be the same result.

With everything in its place, the three of them sat with Matty on the blanket-covered futon that was folded out into its bed form. Matty squirmed while Lyla lightly bounced him on her knees. His cries were piercing and they all understood Marshall and Maya’s disappearance into the bathroom.

“Can I see him?” Louis asked, holding out his arms. Lyla passed Matty over gratefully and Louis cradled him cautiously in his arms, completely unsure about whether or not he was doing it correctly.

Lyla laughed. “You’re a natural.”

Louis grinned and stood, taking a turn around the room before sitting back down. “What do you think is wrong with him?”

“He’s a baby.” Lyla said simply. Really, there could be no good explanation after all resources had been tapped.

“Can I hold him?” August asked next.

“Okay, but he’s really squirming, so make sure you hold on.” Louis passed Matty to Lyla who carefully placed him in August’s arms.

August examined his cousin whose face was scrunched up as he wailed. “Hi Matty,” he said. “I’m August.”

Lyla smiled at Louis, admiring the sweetness that their son still possessed in spite of his past. But the smile quickly turned to laughter. As August continued talking to Mateo, the baby’s cries ceased, and he stared up at August, seeming curious. “Keep talking, August,” Lyla whispered.

August did just that and Matty’s eyes began to slowly close, startled back to alertness from the music blaring in the bathroom. Lyla went quickly to the bathroom and knocked on the door. Without waiting for a response, she pushed it open, made a shushing noise to the half-naked people sitting on the floor, and turned off the radio.

Marshall and Maya sat up, listening, excitement clear on their faces at the lack of crying. After Maya had pulled on a robe, she and Marshall followed Lyla out to see what had happened to their baby.

Mateo had fallen asleep with the music turned off and August was still talking to him, telling him stories about himself.

“What did you do?” Marshall whispered.

“August started talking to him and he just… stopped.”

“Nephew, how’d you like to move in?”

August laughed soundlessly and shook his head.

“Alright well let’s see if we can get him in his crib without him waking.” Marshall slowly lifted Mateo from his nephew’s arms and walked him over to the crib in the corner of the room. Gently, he placed his swaddled son down. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for a cry that didn’t come. Instead, Mateo continued to sleep peacefully, breathing deeply.

“You should both get some sleep too,” Lyla whispered. “I’ll come help throughout the week if you like. Call me, Maya, whenever.”

They said their goodbyes and, when Lyla, Louis, and August were gone, Marshall and Maya lay themselves down on their bed, falling asleep to the now soothing sound of their bathroom fan.

They awoke several hours later, the apartment now dark, to the cries of their son. Marshall checked the time as Maya rolled out of bed to try and tend her son. Swaddling him, she brought him to her breast, praying he was hungry and that he’d be cooperative. To her extreme gratitude, he latched on without issue. She sat in the rocking chair Lyla had gifted her and watched her son in peace.

Marshall found a burping blanket for when she was finished and set it on her shoulder. “D’you need anythin’ else?”

Maya shook her head. “Try to go back to sleep. You have work in the morning.”

Marshall didn’t protest. He only had a few more hours of sleeping time left.

When she was finished feeding Mateo, she burped her son and changed him. She talked nonsense to him and he didn’t seem to be upset any longer. With an unexpected lack of effort, she rocked him back to sleep and placed him back in the crib before crawling back into bed herself and falling asleep instantly.


	20. May 2009

_May 2009_

With Louis off in Philadelphia representing his company at some convention and August off with Marshall for quality bonding time, Lyla found herself with the apartment to herself, which gave her time to organise some of the baby stuff she had collected over the past months and during her baby shower. The bassinet was in the master bedroom with Louis and Lyla. They had a crib tucked away in the storage closet still needing to be assembled, but they lacked the space. You could only get so much in Manhattan at the price she had originally budgeted for when she moved from Chicago. After all, she was only planning for herself and August when she got the place.

She and Louis played around with the idea of moving, but if they did, they didn’t want to move far. The school August was at was very good, and they were close to Juilliard, which August had lately taken to not-so-subtly hinting at attending full time. But they’d have to be willing to spend more.

Her father had demanded that she keep the money he gifted to her and Louis on their wedding, so they put it into savings and investments. They would be able to use that for a bigger space if they wanted.

In any case, though, they had decided to wait for a while until after the baby was born, not wanting to add stress on top of stress.

Lyla and Louis had set up a changing table next to their dresser in the only available space left while the bassinet was right next to the bed on the side where Lyla slept for quick-access feeding in the middle of the night. She had filled the changing table storage cupboard up to be overflowing with diapers and wipes. Most recently, she had washed all of the blankets and clothes she had bought or received, so took to the task of folding everything and placing what she could in the drawer Louis had cleared their stuff out of. The stuff that didn’t fit would go into their closet on the top shelf until they figured something better out.

Lyla stood up with great effort, feeling the familiar back ache, and tidied their bedroom. There wasn’t much else to do over the next few weeks in terms of preparation. She had researched everything she could and talked to Maya about the birth process enough for Maya to cut her off whenever she started talking about pregnancy, regardless of the direction of the conversation. Although she already had a child, the process of actual birth was completely new to her. She hadn’t had that opportunity with August.

The sun was beginning to set and Lyla would be expecting August back in a couple of hours, so she decided to run the bath and treat herself to a soothing spa-like experience to calm her mind and soothe her aching muscles first.

She slid into the slightly-too-warm bath and felt instantly relaxed by the lavender oil and moisturising bubbles. Her natural sounds and Zen music played loudly, echoing against the tiled bathroom walls, creating an air of resounding tranquility. She closed her eyes and let the peace wash over her.

Lyla must have dozed off because she felt herself startle awake in the tub, a small ache in her lower back. She shifted her position slightly to find comfort. It didn’t help, but she knew it would pass. It was a Braxton Hicks contraction. As soon as she had entered her third trimester of pregnancy, the phantom contractions became quite regular. They passed quickly and the discomfort disappeared. With the water still warm and her fingers not yet pruney, she closed her eyes again, listening to the bird calls and windchimes.

Some time later, she heard a knock on the door that nearly made her jump out of her skin. “Hello?” she called over the music.

“It’s August. Letting you know I’m home.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, “oh, thank you sweetheart. I’ll be out soon.” Lyla sat up as well as she could and stretched her arms above her. Her muscles no longer ached and she felt one hundred percent revived. Leaning back, she stretched the right leg and then the left before spasming and splashing the bathroom floor with water. Her unborn child kept her from reaching forward to massage the contracting calf muscle, so she held on to the sides of the tub, flexing and pointing her foot in agony, trying to hinder its torture of her. She groaned with eyes shut tight and figured she was only making it worse by the movement, so stopped. The warm water would take care of it.

But when another phantom contraction started and ended, hurting a little more than usual, she became fed up. The relaxation she had felt had disappeared.

Carefully, she pulled herself up by the sides of the tub, crouching on one leg while the other throbbed uncontrollably. She managed to sit herself on the side of the tub, both legs in the water. Lyla figured that she could swing herself around and then limp along the sink to her towel, hoping the cramp would go away on its own. But as she prepared to get one leg over, she felt the familiar tightening of her muscles, though this time it was much more intense. She was still three weeks away from her due date, but she thought these contractions were a lot more real than the others. Lyla groaned loudly, frustrated with the idea of labour and a knotted calf all at once.

Again, there was a knock at the door. “Lyla, y’alright?”

She sighed and reached to turn off the music that no longer had the healing properties that she so needed. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she lied.

“What’s wrong?”

Lyla took a deep breath and turned to the side to try and swing her leg over the narrow tub edge, but that only irritated the aching calf muscle in her other leg. “I’m just—” She audibly sighed with irritation. “My fu—” she stopped herself, unsure if August was outside the door. “I’m trying to get out of the tub,” she felt tears stinging her eyes. “But my leg is cramping and I can’t—” She cut herself off. “I’m sorry, I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want help?” Marshall asked without hesitation.

“No, I’ll be okay.” Her leg had to unknot at some point. But then she felt a strange sensation, which revealed that she was in fact in labour. She made an incomprehensible sound.

“What happened?”

“I think I’m in labour. I think my bloody show—”

“Alright, I’m comin’ in and we’re gettin’ you out of that tub,” Marshall said urgently.

She sighed, defeated but wanting out of the tub just as well. “Okay, just… hang on a second.” Lyla cleaned herself up and wished desperately for her towel to be wrapped around her instead of hanging on the door. But she did what she could with a strategically placed loofah and her hands. “Okay. Come in.”

Marshall slowly opened the door and stepped into the steamed room. “Right, towel?”

“Back of the door.”

He looked behind the door and removed a large grey towel from the hook on which it hung. Marshall walked over to Lyla while she was careful not to look at his face as he saw her bloated whale of a naked body. He draped the towel over her and she wrapped it around her middle, gracious for the ounce of dignity provided to her. “Right. Let’s spin you around and get y’out.”

Lyla leaned heavily on Marshall’s arm while he supported her; she managed to get her good leg out with effort while her bad leg pulsed angrily. Then, before they could try anything else, another contraction similar to the last one travelled around her lower back and stomach. She clutched Marshall’s arm, breathing through tightened lips. They passed quickly and she took a deep breath.

“How long have you been having contractions?”

“Not long, I think.”

“Good. Can you get the other leg over?”

She tried, cringed, and shook her head with a groan.

“Alright, I’m going to lift it for you, so hold on.” He plunged his hand into the water and grasped her ankle while she held onto his shoulder. In one motion, he jerked her leg up and over the side, causing Lyla to dig her nails into Marshall’s skin and utter a low cry followed by a whispered, “fuck.”

Marshall grinned, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.” He took note of the visibly contracting muscle in her calf. “Christ. Here.” She held on to the side of the tub as he lifted her leg straight in front of her and forced her foot to point up.

Lyla closed her eyes tight as her muscles continued their torture of their host.

Gently, he lifted her leg a little higher and slightly angled her foot towards her shin as far as it would go. He watched as the muscle relaxed and placed her leg back firmly on the ground. “Walking on it will make it better.” He held out his arms, which Lyla took, and pulled her to her feet.

“Thank you,” she sighed, adjusting her towel before undoing the tub’s plug to let the water drain.

Marshall nodded. “You get dressed and I’ll call Louie, yeah?”

Lyla nodded and did as she was told while also getting anything she would need at the hospital prepared. She wouldn’t be heading there any time soon, she thought, so she could take her time.

By the time she had finished packing and preparing, she had another contraction after which she managed to compose herself enough to set a timer and leave her bedroom.

“Louis said he’s on his way,” Marshall said when he saw Lyla emerge. “Said he’d get the train and be back in two hours or so. You got the time?”

“I… think so. I’m timing the contractions now but they’re pretty far apart. We should be okay now if you want to head home.” She sat on her living room sofa next to August who had turned on the TV to some disaster movie.

Marshall scoffed and sat down in the armchair. “Louis’d have my head if I left you. Besides, I’ll stay with the kid while you and Louie are at the hospital.”

“I don’t get to go?” August asked, disappointed.

“Sure, man, you will,” Marshall replied. “But there won’t be nothing for you to do until your brother is born. We’ll go there after, yeah?”

August nodded miserably.

Lyla rubbed his back with her one hand, “remember how long Uncle Marshall and Maya were at the hospital for? Most of that wasn’t even the birth. It might be the same for me and all you’d be doing is sitting in the waiting room. You couldn’t go off and see anything else. As soon as he’s born, no matter the time, we’ll call you and you can come see your brother.”

He nodded again, his mood seeming a little lighter. “Okay." 

The three of them sat watching TV while Lyla timed her contractions, counting down time until Louis would be back, hoping that it was before she had to get to the hospital.

* * *

 

Louis ran through the station, cutting people off unceremoniously and bumping into others without apology; he shouted and cursed at the crowds, demanding they dissolve so that he could catch his train that he prayed would not leave without him.

As soon as Marshall had called, Louis was looking up times for the trains from Philadelphia. There would be one leaving twenty minutes from that point, so he left the convention without explanation to anyone – no time – and headed straight to the train station, not bothering to stop at his hotel room for his belongings; he’d get Jim, one of his coworkers, to bring his stuff back for him.

He could hear the announcements for the train’s impending departure and the demands for people to step back, which Louis ignored, sliding in between two of the closing doors in the nick of time, sweating profusely from the heat and exertion. He saw people eyeing him strangely, but he was too caught up in the euphoria of making the train and heading to meet his new son that he couldn’t care less.

As the train began pulling away, he found an empty seat and sat down, but couldn’t keep himself from moving around anxiously, shaking his leg or tapping his fingers or playing with the buttons on his dress shirt. How was he going to deal with such a long train ride when he knew Lyla was getting ready to give birth? What if he didn’t make it in time?

He removed his blazer, feeling overheated, and rolled up his sleeves before undoing the top buttons of his shirt so that he could breathe. Fidgeting endlessly, he checked his watch at regular intervals, cursing the sluggish movement of time. He wanted to call Lyla, but service was spotty, and his phone was nearly dead. He wanted it free in case of emergency. Louis threw his head back and crossed his arms, tapping his fingers and bouncing his knee.

“You okay?”

Louis was startled out of his anxious reverie by a man across the aisle from him who had taken notice of Louis’ erratic movements. He was an older gentleman with a brown tweed jacket who had been settled on the train when Louis had taken his seat.

“Yeah, sorry,” Louis said, trying to still himself.

“Where’s the fire?”

Louis grinned, “my wife’s having our kid… or, she’s about to.”

“Congratulations,” the man said, holding out his hand, which Louis shook. “Your first?”

Louis shook his head, “no, second—well, first birth—it’s a long story. Another son.”

The man smiled at Louis’ excitement. “How old’s your first?”

“Turned thirteen at Christmas.”

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“Yeah, it is,” Louis agreed. “Hey, do you mind if I borrow that?” He motioned to the man’s folded newspaper. “I need something to keep me occupied.”

The man nodded and handed Louis the paper. Louis began reading and re-reading the articles, not able to keep much information in while the train sped along its track.

An hour and a half of suffering later, he was back in New York. It was only one short subway ride to Central Park and a quick run to his building before he was charging through the door of his family’s home.

Inside, Marshall was laid out on the sofa watching TV while Lyla paced behind the sofa, also watching TV. Judging by the hour, Louis assumed August had been sent to bed.

“Lyla,” he said, rushing over to her.

“Louis!” They embraced and Louis set his hand on her stomach.

“What’s the status?”

As if on queue, she gripped his arm tight and leaned on the couch. She breathed slowly and surely as the pain passed.

“About fifteen minutes apart,” Marshall said, timing it on his cell. “Maybe thirty seconds long.”

“Thanks Marshall,” Louis said, genuinely relieved to have his brother there. “Is everything ready to go?” he asked Lyla. “What do you need me to do?”

She shook her head, “everything is ready. It’s just waiting now.”

“Right.”

They decided to go to bed, Louis taking over the timing to let Marshall sleep, but very little sleep was had by the couple. Lyla’s contractions didn’t start getting closer until a couple of hours later, and it wasn’t until five in the morning when it was time to go to the hospital. For the past hour, contractions had been five minutes apart, lasting one minute, and that’s what their doctor suggested they wait for, seeing as the hospital itself was only a five minute cab ride away.

Louis ushered Lyla to the door, carrying the bag with all of her necessities. He helped her put on her shoes and let her lean on him as another contraction screamed. Once it passed, he gently told Marshall they were leaving, who grunted to confirm that he heard, and they were on their way.

The street was empty outside but for early commuters and it took a moment and a contraction to get a cab. Once they were in the back seat, Louis was doing his best to coach Lyla who breathed steady and calm between her contractions and didn’t really need any coaching.

As another contraction came, the cab pulled up in front of the hospital. Louis held Lyla’s hand tightly until it passed, paid the taxi driver, and they made their way up the hospital steps. But before they could make it to the doors, Lyla had to pause, having felt something akin to a small pop followed by what she assumed was liquid from her water breaking. “I think my water just broke,” she breathed.

“Right. Let’s go then,” Louis said, feeling a constant fighting rush of apprehension and excitement.

“Wait,” she strained, grasping tightly onto her husband’s arm as pain, amplified by ten, coursed through her body.

Louis held her helplessly as her face scrunched up in response to the pain. “Breathe,” he reminded her, feeling utterly useless as his own face contorted in empathy. But it seemed to work. She listened and took short, sharp breaths until the contraction passed.

“That was so much worse,” Lyla moaned as they pushed forward, entering through the automatic doors to the hospital.

Louis did his best to comfort her, leading her to the elevator and into the Maternity Ward where medical professionals were expecting them. As the elevator doors opened, Lyla cried out, and paused for another contraction, which alerted the nursing staff who were ready with a wheelchair to bring Lyla to her room. Louis forced her along through the pain with an occasional “breathe” and sat her in the chair.

Once in her room, Lyla answered questions and talked to nurses and had contractions while Louis stood by her side, holding her hand tightly or getting her ice chips or helping her with any number of tasks – whatever she needed.

“It looks like you’re fully dilated sweetheart,” a lovely nurse informed Lyla softly. “Let’s get going.”

Lyla’s doctor entered the room almost immediately, greeted Lyla and Louis, and set himself up by her feet. “Alright, Lyla. When you feel like you have to push, then push and we’ll get moving.”

Right away, Lyla began pushing, relieved to actually have something to do that she was in charge of instead of waiting for her body and child to decide what she had to do. She pushed and breathed. And pushed and breathed. She held onto Louis’ one hand for dear life, his skin around her grip devoid of blood flow, while his other hand held her when she pushed forward or moved a stray hair out of her eye or used a damp cloth to dab sweat from her face. He coached and encouraged her as much as he could, though he felt like his words were meaningless. Lyla could feel her body burning as it stretched to accommodate the small human that would soon be passing through. The pressure built up and pain radiated throughout her whole person, but she was intent and focused on pushing.

The first hour flew by in a haze, both Louis and Lyla doing what they could, though in very different ways.

“Alright Lyla, I need you to stop pushing,” the doctor said after her last big push as the medical personnel sprung into action, producing stirrups and lights from seemingly nowhere.

“Is everything alright?” Louis asked, feeling a pang of panic.

“Perfect,” the doctor said. “We’re getting everything ready. I can see the head. Lyla, you’re just about there. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Daddy, you have to see,” the lovely nurse said, beckoning Louis to stand with her and the other nurses and watch the birth of his child.

Louis glanced at Lyla who released his hand with a violent dismissive nod and began pushing again. He walked to the nurse, his legs feeling like rubber, and watched at Lyla’s body worked a miracle, expanding for the child whose head was adorned with wisps of black hair like his own.

With another push from his wife, their son’s head emerged. The doctor had Lyla pause while the nurses suctioned the infant’s airways before resuming. Louis watched breathlessly as the doctor shifted the child and, in one more big push, swiftly caught him in his arms as Lyla let out a relieved cry. The nurse took the infant and placed him on Lyla’s chest, and Louis rushed to her side to behold their creation with tears in his eyes. Lyla was tearful as well as Louis kissed her, smiling. “Beautiful,” he said for both Lyla and their son.

Louis cut the cord and the nurses cleaned the baby up while the doctor and Lyla dealt with the afterbirth. Swiftly, everything was cleaned and sorted, and Lyla and Louis were left for a moment to revel in the new addition to their growing love.


	21. May 2009 (2)

Wisps of thin dark hair, soft skin, gentle, comfortable breaths. Louis examined his son sleeping in his arms, wrapped up tightly in a light green blanket. He was incomprehensibly small and Louis marvelled at the hold his son had over him after only a few hours. He couldn’t ever say no to Lyla or August, and he suspected it would be no different for little Benjamin.

Louis hummed softly to his son, sitting forward on the chair and swaying gently while Lyla slept. The curtains were drawn against the light in the quiet room, creating a soft glow perfect for reflection and rest. He wondered what August had looked like as a baby. Would this child grow to look like his brother, but with Louis’ dark hair instead of Lyla’s brown? They didn’t have much information on August as an infant. They knew where he went and where he lived, but they didn’t know for certain if he was treated well or if he was loved or if he was neglected and scorned. He was a quiet kid who seemed to let things remain unspoken and hide how he was truly feeling. As he had become more comfortable with his parents, he had begun protesting to certain things – things that all kids protest to: homework, bed, chores – but ended up accepting his parents’ requests in the end as if afraid to say the wrong thing. Did August fear making his parents upset? Louis felt a hole open up inside, suddenly uneasy and worried about how his first son was coping – had Louis been spending enough time with him? Was he hurting without notice? At thirteen, hormones would definitely be running rampant. Had Louis ignored signs of struggle? His heart was beating fast as he reached into his pocket for his phone while baby Ben squirmed uneasily in his arms, seeming to sense the shift in mood.

“Are you on your way?” he texted Marshall, now eager to see August and ensure that he was okay.

“Just off the train,” Marshall responded a few minutes later.

Louis stood and hushed his son before laying him in his bed. He walked to Lyla, curled up on her side in a deep sleep, and tenderly touched her arm while leaning over to kiss her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open immediately, “is everything okay?” she asked, sitting up and scanning the room before resting her eyes on her sleeping son.

Louis smiled and nodded, “August’ll be here right away.”

“Oh, okay,” she said and began to get out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom. Open the curtains?”

Louis did as requested while Lyla grabbed her bag and slipped into the bathroom. He could hear the water running along with the unmistakable sound of teeth being brushed. She emerged a few minutes later to a lighter room and a knock at the door. Lyla returned to her bed while Louis opened the door, revealing August and Marshall with evidence of a very recent shopping trip for flowers and a soft plush dog.

Louis pulled August into a hug before leading him to his brother.

Marshall nodded at Lyla, “it go alright?”

Lyla nodded. “It was quick.” She walked over to Ben and picked up the baby. “But not painless,” she joked. “Do you want to hold him?” she asked August who nodded eagerly.

“Yes.” He sat on the chair Louis had been in and leaned back with a grin on his face as Lyla placed the baby in his arms. Once his brother was in his arms, he seemed intent on watching every little twitch and movement. “What’s his name?” August asked after a moment.

“Benjamin Michael,” Lyla said.

“Ben,” added Louis.

“Hi Ben,” August said softly.

They visited together until one of the nurses returned to run some tests and check on mother and child. Marshall took that as his queue to start returning to his own child. He said his goodbyes and left, but Louis followed after him.

“Marshall.”

He stopped and turned to his brother, “yeah?”

“Thanks for your help with August and Lyla.”

“Yeah,” Marshall replied. “I’ll see you later baby bro.”

“Marshall.”

“Yeah,” he said again, clearly just wanting to get home.

“Do you reckon August is okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean… he’s a quiet kid and seems happy, but do you think he’s okay? Actually happy? When you hang out with him, does he seem okay?”

“’Course he’s okay. He’s not that quiet either. Talks my ear off sometimes. You’re his parents. He’s happy.”

“Okay,” Louis said with a nod, not at all convinced.

“Hey,” Marshall said, resting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s got into you, but your kid is fine. Your _kids_ and your wife are all fine, yeah? Be happy, Louie, and stop worrying.”

Louis nodded, still feeling indescribable anxiety about something he couldn’t quite figure out. His brother left and he took a deep breath before going back into Lyla’s room.

“Everything alright?” he asked mother and child.

“Perfect,” Lyla said with a smile. “They said everything is okay and we can go whenever we like. I think sooner is better than later.” She was not a fan of being in the hospital and simply wanted to be home.

The three of them checked out of the hospital as soon as they could and made their way back via cab to their apartment that would suddenly have four people living in it instead of three.

It seemed different as Louis and Lyla entered their home – like they had simultaneously been gone for months and stepped out to the corner store five minutes prior. But everything was the same except for the baby.

“You hungry?” Louis asked as Lyla made her way with the baby to their room.

“Yeah,” she called back. “Can you warm up leftover stew?”

Louis went about completing the task while August sat quietly at the kitchen table except for his tapping fingers. “August, d’you want to go out for lunch? Leave mam and Ben to rest for a bit?” If truth be told, Louis wanted nothing more than to catch up on the sleep he had missed, but the nagging in the pit of his stomach, which might have very well been due to sleep deprivation, kept him focused on August. He didn’t want his eldest son to feel like he was being pushed aside.

August nodded, “yeah, okay.”

Louis settled Lyla and notified her of his plan, to which she showed some relief mixed with apprehension at being left alone with her newborn, and they set out into the city, sun high in the sky.

“Any ideas where you want to go?” Louis asked as they exited their building.

August shrugged. “Anywhere’s okay. Maybe somewhere I can get a burger,” he suggested.

“Right.” They started walking towards the park and Louis thought for a moment before coming to a decision: “I’m going to take you to this pub with some of the best burgers you’ll ever have. Yeah?”

August nodded, “okay.”

They entered the park and began following the path that would lead them to the other side.

“August,” Louis said, taking in the sights and sounds of everything around them as the sun shone brightly over the greenery. “Sorry if your mam and me haven’t been so good lately.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied after a moment.

“I mean, what’s been going on with you? I don’t think I’ve had a good, solid conversation with you in too long.”

“I don’t know,” August said softly. “Everything’s okay.”

Louis wasn’t convinced at all but didn’t say anything as they continued to walk in silence.

“Have you and mom thought about me and Juilliard?” August asked after some time.

“About going full time?”

August nodded.

“We’ve talked about it, but we’re not sure. What about English, Math, Science? Everything else? They’re just as important as music.”

“I can learn them on the weekends though,” August replied, seeming to gain more confidence in his dialogue with his dad. “You could get me a tutor to homeschool me. Or maybe there’s weekend school. Or even summer school! Then when it’s time for me to take my exams, I’ll still know everything I need to anyway.”

Louis nodded, “you’re right about that. We’ve… actually been looking into what kind of options you’d have. There are possibilities.” He wondered if Lyla would be upset with him for discussing this with August before they had a chance to decide together.

“So then why not?”

Louis sighed, “well, people at Juilliard are a lot older than you, kid. You wouldn’t have friends your own age to hang out or grow up with.”

“There are some younger people. Mom and Auntie Lizzy started when they were sixteen and that’s only a little older than me.”

Louis nodded as they came to the edge of the park and turned left, “a lot happens between thirteen and sixteen though. We don’t want you to feel alone as you grow up.”

“I—” August started, paused, then continued. “I won’t feel alone. I belong at Juilliard with people who love music like I do.”

Louis shook his head as they crossed the street, “it’s just up there.” He pointed to an old building a little further down the road. “What about your friends? Tyler? Jordan?”

August shrugged, “I’ll make new friends. Tyler and Jordan aren’t my friends anymore anyways.”

“What?” Louis asked, taken by surprise. “Since when?”

“I don’t know. Since September, I guess.”

Louis kicked himself for not knowing. “Is that why you didn’t want a party for your birthday?”

August shrugged.

They reached the pub and Louis held the door open for his son. Inside, they ordered some soft drinks and food, and sat at a table that looked out onto the busy street outside.

“So, who have you been hanging out with at school then during lunch?”

“No one really,” he started slowly. “I usually go to the music room. Mr. Rowland lets me use the piano when I’m done with my lunch.”

Louis shook his head. A thought occurred to him. “Hang on. Where were you going so often after school then? You said it was to Tyler’s.” Two to three times a week, August would go to Tyler’s house – or he said that’s where he was going – and wouldn’t be home until six or seven. How had he not known his only son at the time was lying to him? Hadn’t he lied to his mam when he was young, getting caught out each and every time? Why hadn’t Louis noticed?

August remained silent, evidently not wanting to say where he had been.

“We dropped you off at sleepovers a couple of times since September too.” Louis felt angered from worry and disappointment in himself but tried his best to hide it. “Where were you going?”

“Those were friends from Juilliard,” he replied quietly.

“And the other times?”

August simply looked into his glass of cola and played with the straw before taking a sip, all without meeting his father’s eye.

Louis sighed, “look, man—” He was interrupted by the arrival of their food and his stomach growled greedily. He took a moment to shake salt onto his fries and eat a couple while August did the same. They were very alike in a lot of ways, he thought, and not just in how they liked their food. “August,” he said after a moment, “I’m not angry with you. If I’m angry with anyone, it’s me. I should know these things, especially if you’re feeling the way you are. I’m just worried about you. We haven’t known each other that long. I think you don’t make a fuss or say things that’re on your mind because you don’t want me or your mam to be mad at you. But we love you, yeah? There’s nothing you could do that would make us stop. Just talk to me like you’d talk to Uncle Marshall.”

August continued eating his fries and burger in silence. Louis sighed and did the same, occasionally humming to the music that was playing.

“This is a good one,” Louis said as a rock classic began to play. “Just listen to that guitar.”

August did and began to feel a bit lighter. “Do you think I could play with your band again sometime? Like I did when Matty was born?” The silence and tension between the two dissipated instantly.

“Yeah, of course man. Didn’t know you’d want to.”

August nodded. “At lunch time on Saturdays, there’s a group of us that play covers of different songs or songs that someone wrote. It’s fun. I like doing that.”

“Lots of people do that?”

“There’s maybe five of us. Sometimes others join though.”

“That’s great, man. Are you on guitar? Do you change it up?”

“Usually guitar, but I’ll sometimes try other things. Right now, I’m trying drums.” He took a sip from his cola and then said, “Washington Square.”

“Yeah?”

“When I said I was going to Tyler’s, I was going to Washington Square to meet Arthur where we’d play music together. Uncle Marshall caught me one time in winter and yelled at me because it was dark out and I had lied about where I was.”

“Uncle Marshall knows?” Louis repeated, a little bubble of something like jealousy brewing inside him.

“He said that he wouldn’t tell you if I promised to let him know whenever I was going so that he could make sure I was safe.”

“And did you?”

“Most of the time,” August murmured.

Louis rubbed his hands over his face. “Isn’t Arthur the one who goes round with that man who tried to kidnap you?”

“He didn’t try to kidnap—”

“He tried to keep you from leaving though,” Louis interjected, feeling the unbeknownst fear of losing his son building uncontrollably. “What if he got the better of you?” He could feel his voice raising and shaking, so stopped to compose himself.

“I’m careful,” August assured him. “And Uncle Marshall is there if anything happens.”

“That’s not the point, August. If Marshall didn’t run into you, you’d still be sneakin’ off. And if somethin’—if somethin’ happened t’ you, then we wouldn’t know. Your mother an’ me’d be heartbroken, d’you know that?” Louis shook his head. “You have to promise me that you’re not goin’ to sneak around anymore. Your mam and me will seriously consider Juilliard full time for the Autumn, but don’t put yourself in harm’s way anymore. If you want to see Arthur and play, fine, but keep it during the day where there’s lots of people. And get me to come along. Or your mam.”

August nodded, sniffling back tears that had formed as a result of witnessing the worry plain on his father’s face. He’d never seen him so scared or up-in-arms about anything before. His dad was quieter, like him, so rarely showed how he was feeling in such an emotional way.

Louis reached over and ruffled August’s hair. “Right, how ‘bout dessert?”

The duo walked around Central Park, getting ice cream from a cart. They stopped by some musicians on their walk and talked a bit more until Louis felt a sudden wave of fatigue and expressed his desire to go home.

Lyla was up with Ben who was strapped to his mother with a sling while Chopin played lightly in the background. She was humming along and flipping through a book while the baby slept soundly, nuzzled up to his mother.

She smiled as Louis and August entered. “How was lunch?”

Louis patted August’s shoulder, “yeah, it was good. But I think I need a nap. Are you okay?”

Lyla nodded as August walked over, “get some sleep.”

Louis didn’t bother to undress or close the curtains. He flopped into bed and drew the blanket over his face to block out the light. He felt like he had just fallen asleep when he was being woken up. “Louis,” Lyla said. “Wake up, love.”

Louis groaned, “is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. But you have to work tomorrow. If you sleep any longer, you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Louis nodded but could feel himself falling back asleep.

Lyla kissed him gently before taking hold of his arms and pulling him up. “Come on. I have food ready.”

He followed her out of bed, his feet barely leaving the ground as he shuffled forward. In the living room, August was sitting on the sofa with his brother in his arms, talking about anything he could think of while Beethoven floated in the air. On the kitchen table, two bowls of mushroom soup and two plates of grilled cheese sandwiches waited for Louis and Lyla to consume them.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked Lyla as she sat next to him.

“Unexpectedly good,” she replied. “It doesn’t feel like I pushed a human out of me just twelve hours ago. It’s bizarre. I don’t even really remember the pain anymore.”

“I do,” Louis smirked, flexing his hand.

Lyla laughed and kissed his hand, “thank you.”

Louis tore apart pieces of his sandwich and dipped it in the soup, slowly savouring each bite while Lyla had cut her sandwich in two and dipped a bit of one half in the soup before taking a bite and repeating. After Louis felt sufficiently awake, he leaned in to Lyla and said, “I was talking to August about this Juilliard thing. I think we should let him go full time and hire a tutor for everything else.”

Lyla considered for a moment. “He’s so young though and the others are so much older. He won’t fit in.”

“I don’t think he fits in at school as it is. Did you know he doesn’t talk to Tyler or Jordan anymore?”

“What? Since when?” Lyla asked, shocked just at Louis was.

“Since September apparently.” He could see the same emotions that he felt running through Lyla. “We had a lot going on.”

“But we should know these things. But then—”

“He’s been going to Washington Square with Marshall,” he interrupted, not entirely lying, “when we thought he was going round his friend’s place after school.”

“Marshall.”

“I’m going to have a word with him about it. But August says he spends his lunchtimes in the music room alone. But at Juilliard, he spends his lunchtimes with the people there, still playing music, but now with others. If there’s a place for him full time at Juilliard, I think he’d be so much happier.”

Lyla nodded, taking all of the information in as quickly as she could, trying to keep herself from running over to her son and suffocating him with her hugs. Her heart raced at the prospect and she sighed before agreeing. “Okay.”

“August,” Louis called after he finished the last of his soup and sandwich. “C’mere a minute.”

August hesitated in slight bewilderment, never having walked and carried an infant at the same time. Louis laughed and walked to him instead with Lyla following. “Sorry man.” He took little Ben from August and held him in his own arms before sitting on the sofa between August and Lyla. “I was just talking with your mam,” he said, “and we’ve decided that we’ll try to get you into Juilliard full time for September.”

August’s face lit up, “really?”

“Yes, really,” Lyla said, smiling at her son’s excitement. “I’m going to see about homeschool options with other students though because you still need to be around people your own age.”

August nodded, “I’m okay with that! Thank you!” He hugged his dad and then his mom before wrapping his index finger and thumb around Ben’s hand and bobbing it gently up and down.

“You’re welcome. Now why don’t you go get ready for bed?”

August sighed but did as he was told.


	22. August 2009

_August 2009_

The Connelly Brothers finished their set with loud supportive cheers following behind them. They were playing Summer Fest, a week-long festival held at the beginning of August near the New York-Canadian border for a variety of different music styles including rock, blues, and folk. They had played three days in a row on different stages and were well-received each time. Marshall took it upon himself to be salesman for the band, distributing albums and merchandise they had toted along with them, provided to them by their work with their record label, Revolutions Inc.

The majority of people willing to buy their album were women, which Marshall enjoyed as he managed to procure the numbers of most girls. He was happy to be away from the city and lost in a crowd of people. His apartment was feeling too crowded as of late. As a band, they had decided to spend the full week at the festival, taking in other performances and getting to know other musicians a bit better. But while Marshall was relieved to be away from Maya and Mateo, Louis was constantly checking his phone, worried and guilty about being away from Lyla, August, and two-month-old Ben.

“Louie!” Marshall called from the makeshift table he had set up to sell their goods.

Louis laboured to his feet from his folding camping chair, a slight buzz alleviating some of his worries.

“Louie,” Marshall repeated, slinging his arm over his brother’s shoulders. “These lovely ladies are buyin’ our album and would like our autographs,” he grinned. “Where’s the others?”

“Gettin’ something to eat. Hey,” Louis responded. “What d’you want our autographs for?”

“When you’re famous, it’ll be something to brag about,” one of the girls, a tall girl with dark hair, joked.

“And might be worth something then too,” the other girl, shorter with brown hair, added.

“Alright, alright,” Louis said grinning. Marshall handed him a Sharpie and he signed both of their albums just as Marshall had done. The girls hung around chatting to Marshall and Louis, the former flirting mercilessly until Brian, Steve, and Nick returned with enough food to last them awhile. They were all delighted to sign the albums as well.

“Do you guys want to come back to our site for some drinks? There’s a bunch of us camped out by Stage 5.”

“Yeah, ‘course we do,” Marshall replied immediately. “Just let us finish up here and we’ll join you, yeah?”

“Marshall, we’re not going to go with these girls,” Louis said after the girls described their site and left.

“Ah, Louie, you don’t have to sleep with them, y’know. I’ll take care of that,” he winked. “Help me pack this stuff up.”

“Are you tryin’ for another kid?” Louis commented.

Marshall pushed his brother, “you know Maya was different. I wouldn’t ever go bareback with festival girls anyway. A kid would be the least of my worries.”

Louis shook his head but said nothing. Marshall had been enjoying himself from day one. Brian indulged as well, but the others, taken as they were, kept their focus on the music and drink. But they all tagged along with Marshall anyway, if only to see somewhere other than their own Stage 3 site.

At the girls’ site, there were several tents set up and a lot of people who looked worse for wear from the sun and drink and drugs. Some musicians from other lesser known bands that The Connelly Brothers had met before were already sitting on various real and makeshift chairs, so Louis sat amongst them, sharing drinks and laughing while Marshall entertained the girls.

As the sun began to set, a headlining band took to Stage 5. Louis was enough drinks in to not know how many drinks it was as he chatted with those around him; things began to become dimmer and bonfires were scattered throughout surrounding sites. Marshall had disappeared aeons ago, but Louis stuck with Alex and Karl from Oslo Revival, a Norwegian band based in Boston. They traipsed along from one fire to the next, taking exaggerated steps to avoid falling into the fires as their motor skills became less tuned. They would sit around one fire for awhile until they got bored or wanted to go somewhere else.

At their Nth fire, Louis’ phone began to ring, playing a cello melody recorded by Lyla, indicating it was she who was calling. He stood and stumbled away from the crowd (though with the music on stage, this did nothing to reduce volume).

“Hullo,” he answered.

“Hi love, how’s it going?”

“Yeah, yeah. Good, good,” he replied, a little too loud. “How’s she cuttin’?”

“What?”

“Hm? Y’alright?”

Lyla laughed, “are you?”

“Yeah, good, good,” he repeated, unable to form anything reasonably coherent.

“Alright, just wanted to check in. You sound like you’re having fun, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Everyone good?” he managed.

“Yep. August and Ben are sleeping. I’m about to head off to bed myself. You’re coming home tomorrow?”

“Mhmm.”

“Alright, I love you. See you then.”

“You too.” He ended the call and stuck his phone in his back pocket before heading to one of the fires, unsure if that was where he came from. He couldn’t see Alex or Karl anywhere, so he joined a random group of people who seemed entranced as he spoke more than usual in his thickened Irish accent. 

* * *

 

Louis woke up in dark and dampness, still feeling very drunk. He sat up and his head spun, making him feel intensely nauseated. Silhouetted shapes of others curled up on the damp grass as the rain began to pour were scattered around Louis. He stood unsteadily, waited for his balance to catch up with him, and then began stepping around the sleeping bodies, stumbling frequently and tripping over more than a few, receiving groans and curses. More often than not, the people he kicked were just as confused as he and began wandering to their own tents.

Once out of the sea of people, Louis could stumble freely in the dark. The rain had put out any remaining fires, and the only lights were those in the distance lighting different paths. Most noises were blocked out by the weather, but a couple of tents definitely contained the distinct sounds of lovers or the not-so-hushed discussions of people not quite finished with their drinking for the night.

Louis arrived back at his tent and listened to ensure that Marshall wasn’t busy with a girl before unzipping the tent and stepping in. He could see the dark shape of Marshall in his sleeping bag, but he looked to be asleep. Louis removed his damp clothes and tossed them outside, not caring for humidity they’d create if left inside, then slipped into his own bag and went to sleep.

In the morning, the sun was beating down on the tent and Louis felt like he was suffocating from the unbridled heat. He sat up and violently unzipped his sleeping bag, a thin sheen of sweat covering him. Quickly, he unzipped the door and stepped out from the empty tent into the sunshine, a warm breeze causing him to shiver and feel immense relief from the sauna inside.

“Hey, man,” a strange voice said. “Want some breakfast?”

Louis spun around to see four strangers sitting at a picnic table with grins stretched across their faces. He didn’t recognize a single one of them even a little bit. It was then that he started to take in his surroundings. His and Marshall’s tent was blue; the one he had just exited was green. He and The Connelly Brothers were camped out near Stage 3, but he was now near Stage 1. Even the layout of the site was much different. How had he strayed so far away? The four strangers laughed.

“Shit, sorry,” Louis said, searching the ground for his clothes, which he remembered tossing into the grass.

“Your clothes are on our line,” said one of the strangers, a woman with glasses and short blonde curly hair. She motioned to a line hanging between two trees on their site where a couple of damp towels also hung.

Louis realised he was in nothing but his black boxer-briefs. “Sorry,” he repeated, leaning back into the tent to retrieve his shoes.

“Don’t worry about it,” the first speaker said. “Come have breakfast. We’ve got bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns – all of it.”

Louis ran his fingers through his hair, “okay yeah. Got any water?” He walked over to his hanging clothes first, which were soaked through, and reached in his pocked to retrieve his phone, which was thankfully unscathed. The time read 10:14 and there were several missed calls and unanswered texts from Marshall. He called him back as he made his way towards the picnic table and took a seat.

“Louie!”

“Marshall.”

“Where’d you get off to?”

“Wrong campsite. Listen, my phone’s almost out. I’ll be back soon.”

Marshall laughed, “right, see you.”

Louis hung up his phone and placed it on the table where a plate of bacon, buttered toast, scrambled eggs and hash browns waited for him along with an unopened bottle of water. He grabbed the water first and drank greedily. “Cheers,” he said to the group.

“You’re in that Irish band, aren’t you? The O’something Brothers,” a stunning red-headed girl said.

“Connelly Brothers,” Louis nodded. “I’m Louis.” He held out his hand and was introduced to Sophie, the red head, Chloe, the blonde girl, Alan, a tall blonde man and the one who had first spoken, and Jack, a slightly chubby man with brown hair. “Sorry again about crashin’ here. I was blasted out of me mind. My site’s back at Stage 3. I got turned around. Whose bed did I steal?”

“Caleb’s but who knows where he got off to,” Jack answered. “Are you playing any of the stages today?”

Louis shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of toast and eggs. “We played Thursday, Friday, Saturday and are heading home this afternoon. Got things to do in the real world.”

“You guys were really good. We saw you Thursday on Stage 2. Do you write all of your songs? We didn’t hear any covers.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Yeah, we write our own songs. We’ve never really been into covers, especially in a setting like this where most people are wasted out their mind anyway. If we suck, they don’t care.” He took another few staggered sips of the water, the combination of greasy food and hydration helping him wake up. “Have you guys been here all week then?”

“No, we came out Thursday morning for a long weekend.”

Louis nodded. “Was thinking you looked pretty good for people here since last weekend. The all-weekers look more like meself.” The group laughed as he scarfed down the last bits on his plate and finished off his water. “Where’re the nearest toilets?”

He was directed towards the stage to a row of porta-potties. With his boots on, he knew he looked ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to enter a porta-potty with his bare feet. “I’ll be back for my clothes,” he said, laughter following after him. He heard a quiet comment of “at least he’s got a nice ass” from one of the girls and felt even more exposed than he already was.

“Right,” Louis said when he returned. “I gotta get goin’. But if any of you’re ever in Brooklyn on a Friday or Saturday, come check us and some other great bands out at The Incubus.” He collected his drenched clothes along with his phone, said his goodbyes and thanks, and headed back to his Stage 3 site. Louis could feel the strange looks at this mostly naked man and his rolled-up clothes as he neared his site. He could see the boys eating their own breakfast on the picnic table outside their tents; Brian was the only one facing Louis’ direction and let out a shrieking mocking howl at the sight of him. The others turned around and followed suit, drawing the attention of other festival attendees who joined in with less raucous laughter.

Louis grinned at their reaction and nodded, eyes up to the sky as if to say ‘get it out of your system’.

“Louie!” Marshall bellowed. “What on Earth man?!” He drew Louis into a one-armed head lock and mussed up his hair with his free hand before releasing him.

“I was out of it and mixed up tents.” He said as he reached the picnic table and began laying his clothes out. “Way down by Stage 1.” The boys cackled and Louis chuckled in response.

“Well, we want to get going,” Marshall said, “so get some clothes on and help us take down the tents.”

Louis disappeared into his and Marshall’s tent to get dressed. He checked his phone where there was a missed call from Lyla.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said as she picked up the phone. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. I’m just gettin’ dressed and then we’ll be headin’ home. Should be back two or three.”

“Okay, be safe on the road. Get some sleep if you’re not driving.”

“Nick’s driving. So, I can get all the sleep in the world.”

He got dressed in clothes that could no longer be considered clean and packed up his belongings before rolling up his sleeping bag and mat and removing the contents of the tent onto the grass outside. Marshall joined him as he began removing the tent’s pegs and poles.

“Where’d you get to last night?” Marshall asked as the tent collapsed.

“Went round some fires with Alex and Karl. From that Norwegian band,” Louis added as the names didn’t seem to ring a bell. “Then lost them and met some new people, and don’t really remember much else. And you? You get with those girls?”

“Louie,” Marshall said with mock incredulity, “do you even have to ask?”

Louis smirked, “no, I guess not. Not both of them though?”

“Not for lack of tryin’. Got with the shorter one. The tall one was a bit of a prude. The short one was hornier. A good endin’ to a great week.”

“How many does that make it?”

Marshall held up a hand, his fingers spread wide.

“Really, five? Christ, we’ve only been here six days.” They worked together to fold the tent.

“I know. Should’ve done better,” he joked. “Haven’t fucked that much since before Maya moved in. She and Matty are the biggest cockblocks.”

Louis shook his head but said nothing. They shoved the tent into the bag in which it came followed by the poles and stakes.

The five of them packed up Nick’s van and they were soon on the road, heading away from the festival as several big bands took to the different stages.

When they got to Manhattan, Nick stopped the van outside of Louis’ building. Brian and Steve had followed behind in Brian’s beater while Nick, Marshall, and Louis rode in the van with their equipment. The five of them unloaded Louis’ guitar, bags, and camping equipment, and helped him schlepp it up to his unit with a quick hi to August, Lyla, and Ben, before getting on with the rest of the drop offs.

Lyla set Ben down on his stomach with a blanket covering the hardwood floor while August got back to work in a corner of the living room where he was practicing his classic guitar.

“How’d it go?” Lyla asked as she propped the camping gear against the wall and out of the way. She led Louis to the sofa where he sat, still feeling exhausted despite his nearly-two-hour nap.

“It was good. Fun. We met some good people.” He told her some of that stand out stories, including his little mishap the night before. August had been listening and they both laughed. “But I stink and feel disgusting, so I’m goin’ to hop in the shower quick.”

* * *

Louis welcomed the warm cascade of water and felt satisfied as he watched the week’s worth of dirt from his body visibly disappear down the drain. He started to feel human again as he scrubbed the dirt from his scalp and then let the water splash over his face. He jumped when he heard the shower door open.

“Sorry,” Lyla said as she stepped in behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle.

Louis placed his hands over hers as she leaned her head against his back. “I missed you,” she said.

“I missed you too,” he replied. They stood still and silent as the water ran over the both of them. Louis could faintly feel Lyla’s heartbeat. There was something about that feeling and the warmth of her touch that made Louis’ own heart race the same as it did on the first night they met. He loved her more than he had ever truly loved anyone. Louis ran his fingers up and down Lyla’s arms, examining the light hairs and occasional freckle. Gently, he brought her hand up to his lips and rested it there before pulling away from her grasp just enough so that he could face her. She kept her head on his chest while he fondled the delicate tendrils of her hair, marvelling at their ability to snap back into place after being stretched out straight. He ran his hands over her shoulders, following the supple contours of her waist; he wrapped his arms tightly around her and rested his head on hers.

“I’m sorry we haven’t... been together since Ben,” Lyla spoke, her voice muffled against Louis’ chest.

Louis squeezed her as a reassurance. The doctor had told her to wait at least six weeks and they were now coming up on eight. “I love you for more than that,” he said. “I love you because you’re kind and honest. And I love you because you’re passionate and courageous. And because you’ve given me the life I’ve always wanted full of love and family. The sex is just a bonus.” He paused and kissed the top of her head. “A really good bonus.”

Lyla giggled. “Soon,” she said simply and that was good enough for Louis.


	23. October 2009

“How do I look?”

Marshall looked up from his laptop where he was searching through various listings for rentals. He and Maya were getting in more arguments, being around each other all the time with no space of their own. They each spent a lot longer ‘in the shower’ than they used to, searching for a reprieve from the other as well as their son. They needed a new place desperately.

Maya was heading out for the first real night since Mateo was born, the only other nights having been house calls to people she already knew. She was wearing a bright yellow dress that contrasted flawlessly with her honey-brown skin; it hugged her close, showing off the work she had put in to lose the weight she had gained when pregnant. There wasn’t much dress to it – it cut off mid-thigh with cut outs at the waist and a low V-neck, revealing plainly what she was after. “Y’look like I want to bend you over this couch and take ya right now,” he half-joked.

“Good,” Maya said happily. “No mixed signals then.” She began strapping dangerous black stilettos on her feet. “Make sure you test the bottle temperature before you feed Mateo, and I put the veggie puree on the bottom shelf in the fridge. Test that as well. Oh and—”

“Woman, he’s my son; I do this every night. What are you tellin’ me this for?” Marshall cut in with a roll of the eyes.

“Sorry. I’m… nervous.”

“You’re gonna kill it.”

“Thanks. Alright,” she stood up, heels on and clutch at her side. “Call me if there are any issues.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Maya kissed Mateo, who had been babbling happily and bouncing in his walker. “Bye-bye mijo. See you in the morning.” She triple-checked that she had everything and left, looking unsure and excited all at once.

“Right Matty, what’re we gonna do tonight?" 

Mateo turned to face his father and babbled something incomprehensible in response.

* * *

 

Marshall was startled awake by the sound of heels on hardwood. He saw Maya set down the remote control on the coffee table, having turned the TV off; she then turned the last lamp off, pale grey light taking the place of harsh yellow.

“Hey,” he whispered, noting that he had fallen asleep with Mateo sitting next to him. The infant still slept soundly. “How’d it go?” He leaned forward and picked his son up, careful not to wake him, and placed him in his crib.

“It was okay,” she replied, removing her heels.

Marshall transformed the sofa into its bed state and laid himself out on it. “Just okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Went home with a bit of a jerk. Go back to sleep. I’m going to take a shower.”

Marshall nodded and laid down. He’d ask Maya for details after; if he had to put someone in their place, he would.

When Maya emerged from the bathroom, Marshall was not sleeping. Instead, he was on his laptop, wide awake. “Can’t sleep?”

Marshall shook his head. “Nah. C’mere, I found some good listings.”

“Where?” Maya asked, doubting his ability to find a place that suited her.

“Brooklyn,” Marshall said, speaking quickly before she could protest. “I know you want somethin’ in Manhattan, but we’re not in th’ Manhattan tax bracket. Being management has me bringin’ a couple hundred extra per month, but that’s not enough for Manhattan. Plus, travel time’d be killer.”

“I might have a job lined up.”

“Since when?”

“I’ve been talking to a friend who knows someone looking for new employees. It’d only be on weekends and even then, mostly just Saturdays during the day. So, it’d be no problem with Mateo.”

“What’s the job?”

“I’ll tell you when I start and if it works out.”

Marshall narrowed his eyes, “fine. But Brooklyn is still better. And if it’s around the same area, we’d still be close enough t’ Manhattan, yeah?”

Maya sighed, “let’s see them.”

Marshall had bookmarked a series of two-bedroom units with a lot of space for the two claustrophobic and irritated parents. He had figured a budget out that accounted for his warehouse work, bartending, and steady (and increasing) profits from performances and merchandise sales.

“I like that one,” Maya said, referring to a nearby unit in a brownstone. “Nice floors and good space. The bathroom looks big too.”

“D’you want t’ go see some open houses t’morrow? There’s a few havin’ ‘em.”

“Okay, but time for bed first,” she yawned, the light in the apartment a bit lighter than when she first got in. She lay down on the futon while Marshall continued on his laptop, too used to waking up in the dark mornings to go back to sleep.

The next afternoon, Marshall and Maya, along with Mateo, made their way to a series of open houses. Some had clearly been falsely advertised, the cracks and flaws hidden by camera angles, while others were very nice and placed on the list of ‘possibilities’.

“What are you looking for?” a blonde woman in a pantsuit asked after greeting Marshall and Maya at their sixth open house.

“Something spacious and not too far from Manhattan,” Maya said.

“Somethin’ within our price range,” Marshall added.

“Something family-oriented?” the lady asked, smiling down at Mateo who was knocked out asleep in his stroller.

“Christ, no,” Marshall said. “We love our kid, but we don’t want a bunch of other people’s kids runnin’ around.”

“Basically,” Maya said, cutting Marshall off, “we want something with at least two bedrooms – more would be ideal. We’re not in a relationship other than sharing a kid, and we’re sick of having to spend so much time together. We want something to raise our kid in, but not something that forces us to be together all the time. And it has to be close to Manhattan.” Quietly she murmured, “but _in_ Manhattan would be better.” Marshall rolled his eyes.

Not thrown off in the least by Maya’s explanation, the woman said, “I may actually have something that you’d like. It’s not listed yet and is in Hunters Point, not too far from here. Close to Central Park but still in Brooklyn. It’s a walk up like this but with a strange layout that families don’t really seem to like. I could call an associate to meet you over there in about half an hour if you’re interested?”

Marshall shrugged, “we might as well.”

The three left the sixth open house and went on to the find the address the realtor had suggested.

“After this, we eat,” Maya breathed. “My feet are killing me.”

“Why you’d wear those shoes t’ see houses is beyond me.”

Maya had decided on very high heels that she had worn many times before Mateo, but not going out much since, she rarely had any opportunity to wear such shoes, so was no longer used to them. “I need to get back into it. I don’t have to do it without complaining.”

Marshall rolled his eyes again as they approached a nice brownstone with bay windows where a man in a grey suit was waiting.

“Marshall and Maya?” he asked, shaking Marshall’s then Maya’s hand. He led the way up the steps. “The cleaners haven’t been in yet, so we haven’t been able to list it. No pictures of the place yet.” He opened the front door and they were immediately face-to-face with another door along with a narrow stairway. “The unit’s on the second floor. Um… the stroller probably won’t fit up without being folded.”

Marshall unstrapped Mateo, taking him from the stroller and letting him sleep against his shoulder while Maya took anything valuable and shoved it in her purse before discarding the stroller at the bottom of the stoop. They followed the man up the staircase. It was awkwardly designed so that they all had to bend in uncomfortable ways to avoid hitting their heads. “How on Earth would we move anythin’ in here?”

“There’s a fire escape out back. The last occupants pullied everything out,” the man said, sounding impressed. “It took us a long time to find people who would like this place, partially because of that and partially because of the layout. But if you’re interested, it’s a fairly low price for the area.” At the top of the stairs, there was another door, which the man unlocked and stepped through.

It opened into a living room that was flooded with light from the large front-facing windows on the right. To the left, there was an open kitchen; the floors were a laminate that mimicked hardwood and ran throughout the space.

“As you can see, we have a nice large space – especially good if you like to entertain. This unit was renovated a couple of years ago, so everything is still in good working condition. Over here,” he led them to a door off the kitchen, “we have a small office space, which could be a room for the little one.” He led them into a nook off the living space. “This door,” he indicated on the right, “is a small linen closet. This one,” he motioned to the left, “is a larger storage closet. And this one, “he moved towards the door facing them, “is the bathroom.” It was brightly lit with a small window that opened to the outside for ventilation. “As you can see, it’s a four piece and everything is in working order.” He demonstrated by turning the faucets on and then off, and then doing the same for the mirror lights and fan. Marshall and Maya glanced and smirked at each other as the fan whirred noiselessly. “If you come over here,” the man said, pushing past the two, “we have the master bedroom here. It’s a good size.” He opened a door outside of the nook and off the living room. Good light from either side of the building lit the room up nicely. “On this end,” he referred to the window facing the back, “we have the fire escape. The window opens all the way, so you can get wardrobes, beds, and couches in no problem.”

He led them back out into the living room. “Now, Nancy was saying you were looking for a two bedroom and wanted a bit of space, so this will probably work well for you.” Parallel to the wall between the bedroom and the living room, the man pulled down a set of stairs that led to the attic.

“Dibs,” Maya whispered to Marshall.

They followed the realtor up the metal steps and into the attic, which was completely finished and not like any attic that Marshall had ever seen. The light from either side of the house shone in so that it didn’t feel like an attic. “The fire escape also leads to this window,” the man said, motioning to the back-facing window, “so you have another option for moving in furniture.”

“So, how much is this?” Marshall asked.

“A place with this amount of square footage in this area would usually run about $4000 per month, utilities included. But we will be listing this one for $2800, utilities included.”

Marshall visibly cringed, “that’s over our budget, My.” Marshall was paying much less than that for his studio and had budgeted for $2500 at the very most for their new place.

“Can we have a moment to talk?” Maya asked the man. He nodded and disappeared down the attic ladder. “Marshall,” she said once he was gone, “it’s only a few hundred over the budget, utilities are included, and the location is fantastic. We have more income than that with your work, and we’ll have even more when I start work. Plus, The Connelly Brothers are gaining popularity and I know sales are increasing. There’s so much space,” she pleaded. “We wouldn’t even have to be on the same floor if we didn’t want to!”

“I know,” Marshall sighed, pulling out his phone to use the calculator and rearrange their budget. “If you get that job, how much d’you think you’d get?”

“They said at least $300 to start, but that’s per job. I don’t know if I’d be working every weekend or not.”

“Christ, you’re going t’ be a hooker, aren’t you?”

Maya laughed, “not quite. And if I was going to be a hooker, don’t you think I could get more than $300?”

Marshall smirked and shrugged. “Alright, well we could have maybe $1000 extra then – more if you work more than a day per month. D’you really want this place?”

“Yes,” Maya said eagerly. “It’s still close enough to your work – it might be closer – and there’s a lot of space to avoid each other. There’s even a yard out back for Mateo – we should see if we’re allowed to use it. I don’t see a down side.”

Marshall groaned and ran his free hand over his face, “alright. But if we start strugglin’ wit’ bills even a little, we’re movin’ somewhere else. I’m not dealin’ with that shit.”

“Deal!” Maya grinned before descending the stairs with Marshall following.

* * *

 

It was mid-October when Marshall, Maya, and Mateo moved in to their new apartment with the help of their friends and family. Because they had such a small place, there wasn’t too much to move in, but the bigger objects like the kitchen table and living room furniture were awkward to manoeuvre even with the pully system suggested by the realtor. Lyla and Maya were in the living room unpacking little bits with Mateo, August, and Ben while Marshall and the others swore and sweated profusely, bringing the bigger furniture in through the bedroom window.

Marshall and Brian were up on the top of the fire escape to guide the furniture in while Nick stood half way up to keep the pieces from crashing into any number of obstacles; Louis and Sam worked together to pull the rope at the bottom that would bring the furniture up. It had been working relatively well; they had managed to get the TV, table, and coffee table up and in without much fuss, but the futon was causing its own problems, trying to fall open or sliding in the ropes.

“Marshall,” Louis called. “Got any more rope? If we tie th’other—”

“Nah, I don’t have more,” Marshall interrupted irritably. “Let’s jus’ try an’ balance her. If the fuckin’ thing slips an’ breaks, then that’s one less thing t’ deal with.”

Louis and Steve slowly pulled the futon, which decided to spin precariously. It got to Nick who did his best to steady the thing as the ropes started to shift away from centre. Once it reached Brian and Marshall, the two managed pull it towards them as it slid further out of the rope and save it from falling on the tops of Louis and Steve’s heads. Brian jumped in through the window to guide the sofa bed into the bedroom while Marshall took the other side. “What a piece of shit,” Marshall spat as the sofa bed sprung open, free of its restraints.

“C’mon, let’s get th’ rest,” Brian said with a pat of Marshall’s shoulder.

* * *

 

With everything finally in the apartment, The Connelly Brothers collapsed gratefully on the floor while Maya ordered oodles of pizza as a means of thanks. When the pizza arrived, the group ate and drank, helping the couple to unpack all of the knick-knacks and move what little possessions they owned into their temporary places. They would need to purchase individual beds eventually, along with a variety of other things that Marshall deemed unnecessary, to make their place feel more ‘homey’, according to Maya.

“Never thought I’d be livin’ with a woman tellin’ me what t’ do,” Marshall complained, mouth full of pizza.

Maya rolled her eyes, “get over it,” and took a sip of her beer.

“Well you can buy it all with that fancy new job o’ yours.”

“What job?” Lyla asked.

“She’s goin’ t’ be a hooker,” Marshall teased.

Maya slapped his arm, “I am not. I’m just helping out a friend with some things.”

“See how secretive she’s bein’? Whatever it is, she doesn’t want anyone knowin’.”

“Whatever it is, that’s great,” Lyla cut in. “If you ever need me to watch Mateo, just let me know.”

“Thanks. But it’s supposed to only be on weekends, so there probably won’t be a whole lot of issues unless my baby daddy decides to leave me high and dry.”

“High? Maybe. Dry? Never,” Marshall winked.

“Alright,” Lyla said. “I think it’s time to get going.”

“Aw, darlin’, August’s heard worse things from me, haven’t you, nephew?” August smirked and shrugged, causing Marshall to snicker. “Good man.”

“August has school in the morning anyway,” Lyla added. “We’ll leave you to get settled in. Just call if you need anything.”

Louis, Lyla, August, and Ben said their goodbyes and the rest of The Connelly Brothers followed suit, leaving leftover pizza and beer for Maya and Marshall to consume, which they happily did. Maya shared her visions of what the space would look like while Marshall tried not to focus on the cost of everything.

Once they were full and buzzed and tired, all they wanted was bed, which would still be the futon until they sorted things out.

Marshall picked up Mateo from his play pen, “right. Let’s get ya changed and off to bed in your nice new room,” while Maya found her place on the broken futon and curled up to sleep.


	24. November 2009

_November 2009_

“So,” Marshall said, laptop on the living room coffee table and pile of papers ready to hand, “I think we need to get online. Facebook and Twitter, iTunes, website. Aaron said some people’ve been talkin’ about us online so it’d be a good idea to start kinda gettin’ into it, see if we can expand our audience.”

“I’ve got Twitter already, so I could set up another one for the band,” Brian suggested.

“What the d’you even say? What’s the point?” Nick asked.

Brian shrugged, “just anythin’. If you get people followin’ you, then you update them on what’s goin’ on. As a band, it’s good for buildin’ the fanbase, updatin’ people on shows, sales, whatever. And if people’re talkin’ about us, it’s a good way to kinda connect I guess. Thank them an’ all that.”

“Right,” Marshall said. “Brian, you set that up. I’ve set up a Facebook page and we’ll make sure the accounts are linked somehow. I’ve been readin’ up on marketing and shit so I’ll figure all that out. And Aaron said they’ve set up iTunes, which’ll start sellin’ on Monday. So then we just need the website.”

“We need to shell out some cash an’ get a professional,” said Louis. “No matter what we try, none of us has a clue and we don’t want it lookin’ like shit.”

“Yeah but with the move, I’m tight on cash right now, so I don’t know how you guys are doin’.”

“Well, I’ll grab the costs,” Louis suggested. “We don’t need anythin’ fancy, right? A few hundred for… what? What actually needs to be on it?”

Marshall looked down at one of the many pieces of scrawled notes. “Aaron suggested some background information on us – who we are, how we formed, personal bios kind of thing. He said we need gigs, maybe videos and photos of performances, and an online store of some sort.”

“Em’s brother is a web developer. I’ll ask him what something like that costs. Maybe he’ll have suggestions where to go.”

“Great, do that soon as you can. Right, so we got Facebook, Twitter, iTunes, lookin’ into the website. Anything else?”

“Get a Youtube account. Somewhere to post videos and clips of performances?” Steve suggested.

“Do we even have videos?” asked Brian.

“Sure there’s some kickin’ around somewhere. We can always get the wives to start recording some to just get somethin’,” said Steve. “I’ll set it up, no problem.”

“Alright,” said Marshall. “So that’ll help us get a little more noticed by the public. I’m goin’ to be booking our gigs for the next six months but I’m thinkin’ we might change it up a bit. I got an email from some guy-“ He squinted at his chicken scratch notes, “—named Franco Gross. He’s manager of Cornerstone – confirmed it with Aaron. They’re doing an East coast tour that starts and ends in New York wit’ shows in every East coast state from Maine to Florida. Someone suggested us to them and they’re invitin’ us t’ open for them. Well, we’d be the openin’ act for the openin’ act. The one no one listens to, but it’s somethin’.” Marshall flipped his notes over. “They said they’re goin’ to be playin’ for three months, a few shows in each state. I told Gross that we’d talk about it. So, the schedule is New York January 9th, New Haven on the 11th – Saturday and Monday. Then we’d be in Boston the following weekend, the 15th and 16th; New Hampshire on the 18th; Maine on the 19th. Monday and Tuesday. We’d have to be usin’ some vacation days but some of the guys have day jobs too, so they tried to keep it on the weekends. On the 22nd and 23rd, we’re in Philly. Then we have a bit of a break. February, we’ve got Jersey on the 5th and Delaware on the 6th; Maryland on the 7th. Virginia the 11th to 13th and North Carolina 19th and 20th. Another break. March 5th and 6th in South Carolina; 11th to 13th in Georgia and then Florida on the 18th, 19th and 20th before the last couple of shows in New York on the 26th, 27th.”

“And do we get paid?” asked Louis, feeling he already knew the answer to that. As an ‘up-and-coming’ band, they didn’t get paid much and were usually the ones who did the paying in order to take part in festivals and performances like the tour being proposed.

“We get a small cut for the bigger shows – New York, Virginia and Florida – but not anythin’ worthwhile. We could push our merch and album, advertise and all that, but it’s mostly an exposure tour for us. There’d be ‘bout seven days we’d need off work. It’d be exhaustin’ and expensive, travellin’ everywhere. But I was thinkin’ we could play a shitload of Friday/Saturdays after the tour in the city at different places and The Incubus to earn a bit more. And maybe take on a few weekday shows.” Marshall closed his laptop. “It’s a lot to think about, but if we ever want t’ move forward, this is how. All of this.” He sighed, “talk about it with your women like y’do and let me know. I have to give ‘em an answer Monday though. Can we order somethin’ to eat?”

“It’s late, Marshall,” Louis said, standing from his place on the floor. “I’m goin’ t’ bed. Do what you want but lock up when you leave. Night.” Marshall said something indiscernible as Louis disappeared. They had finished their show at Jupiter’s near midnight and were up discussing their band’s future for what seemed like hours. At two, Louis figured he could shed his ‘late night musician’ robe and don the ‘husband and father’ robe instead.

In the dark room, illuminated only by the soft blue night light on Benjamin’s crib, which they had managed to assemble and place in a very unsuitable area of the room that required some serious manoeuvring around, Louis could make out the silhouette of Lyla on her side, asleep. He crept to the bathroom to wash up before checking on Ben and going to sleep himself.

But when he peered into the crib, Benjamin’s wide eyes were staring up at Louis. Upon seeing his father, the corners of his mouth curved upwards into a toothless grin. Louis felt his heart flutter with love for the little human.

“Now, what’re you doin’ awake, man?” Louis whispered softly with a smile of his own.

The baby cooed quietly in response as if knowing his mother was asleep nearby.

“It’s time to sleep,” Louis said, closing his eyes and mimicking a sleeping face.

On cue, Benjamin yawned and seemed a little more drowsy.

“Go to sleep, Ben. We’ll see you in the morning.” Louis laid his hand gently on top of his son’s head before joining Lyla in bed who, half-awake, wrapped her arms around him. 

* * *

 

Louis half-woke in a pleasant state, somewhere between well-rested and exhausted. Lyla was already awake and stroking his hair tenderly. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet; instead, he listened to his wife’s even breaths and allowed himself to really feel the gentle tug on the odd strands of hair, then the almost undetectable pressure of her fingers on his skin as she traced the muscles on his arms, then the desire that began to stir in him as he became more conscious.

He took a deep breath and stretched out his body before opening his eyes to be met with exquisite dark moss orbs peering back at him. They were full of affection and peace and urgency all rolled into one. Louis shifted closer to Lyla, lifting her nightshirt so that he could place his hand on her back and caress her soft skin; he nuzzled her neck, his lips affectionately tracing from her jaw to her shoulder. He could feel the quickening of her pulse against his mouth and felt his own heart begin to drum in time with hers.

Lyla moaned noiselessly, her breath escaping through her nose as Louis’ hands moved lower and as his kisses from her shoulder to her collar bone to her chest became more voracious; she brushed his neck with her grasping fingers, which he took as a signal to connect his lips with hers. He pushed her onto her back and knelt over her as their lips moved urgently with one another’s. She held her arms up for Louis to remove her nightwear completely; instantly, he pulled it over her head and—

“Buh!”

The couple froze in an instant and looked to the crib where little Benjamin was staring at his parents, smiling and babbling.

“We need a bigger place,” Louis murmured, rolling onto his back while Lyla pulled her nightdress back over her head.

“I’ll get him,” Lyla kissed Louis once more before turning her attention to her son. “Hello, sweetheart!” she said with over-the-top pep and a huge smile. “How are you, my sunshine?”

Ben cooed and smiled in response, seemingly convinced that he was communicating in flawless English.

Lyla picked him up and held him above her for a moment before placing him on her hip and singing to no tune in particular: “time to change your bum, and time to fill your tum, so me and daddy can get some… alone time.”

“There’s a hit in the makin’,” Louis joked, joining her at the change table to help with the squirming Ben. 

“You’re not the only poet in this family,” returned Lyla as she unbuttoned her son’s onesie.

Once Ben was changed, he was placed in his high chair in the kitchen and fed some peach and cereal mush before being set down in his play pen where he could roll around and babble safely while Louis and Lyla got some time for themselves.

They snuck back to their room, hoping that August would stay in his own for a little while longer. And as soon as the door closed behind the couple, they were pulling at each other’s clothes and falling into bed, hastily devouring one another.

* * *

 

“We’re thinkin’ of an East Coast tour with Cornerstone,” Louis said, Lyla wrapped in his arms.

“That’s that really popular band, right?”

Louis appreciated the effort she put into staying on top of The Connelly Brothers’ music scene. “Yeah. We’ve never met them, but someone suggested us to them so they invited us.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” Louis didn’t sound all that thrilled to Lyla.

Louis nodded, “’s’good, but we’re spendin’ a lot of money and makin’ hardly any. I’d be gone most weekends and I’d have to take a week’s worth of vacation days.”

She shook her head, “so what? It will definitely lead to more album sales, and with the album on iTunes, it will be so much easier for people to get access to your music. Your fanbase will grow.”

Louis kissed her shoulder, “s’pose you’re right.”

“I am. As always,” she teased.

Before Louis could respond, a knock sounded at their door. “Mom? Dad? Are you awake?”

“Shoot,” Lyla said, realizing how much time had passed since leaving Ben in the living room. “Yes, sweetheart, we’re getting ready for the day. Is everything okay?” She pulled her robe on and tied it securely around her waist while Louis disappeared into the bathroom. Lyla walked to the bedroom door and opened it to reveal a pajamaed August, hair dishevelled like his father’s when he first wakes.

“Grandpa’s on the phone,” August said, holding out the cordless. “And I wanted to talk to dad.”

Lyla took the phone, “Dad is in the shower. Is it important?”

“It’s okay. I’ll talk to him later,” August said, returning to his room.

Lyla headed towards the living room. “Hi dad.”

“Good morning, Lyla, is everything okay?”

“Yep, everything’s fine,” she replied, miming a very happy face to Ben who was trying to reach the little safari animals that swung above him.

“Why are you sleeping so late?”

“It’s 11 o’clock on a Sunday, dad. We’re allowed to rest a bit.”

“Well, I just think—”

“What do you need, dad?” Lyla interrupted, not feeling like she needed a scolding.

He cleared his throat, which he did whenever Lyla did something he didn’t approve of. “When is August’s Christmas break?”

“His last day is the 18th and then he’s back in classes on January 11th. Why?”

“Do you remember Artem Korsakov?”

She didn’t. “Yeah?”

“He has composed a winter series and is unveiling his music at Christmas time during a Moscow yule festival that begins the 17th and ends on the 31st. He has invited me to attend as a guest of honour. I’ll be staying with his family just outside of the city for the duration of my time there. However, I wondered if August might accompany me. I know he’d enjoy the music and I’d like to show him a little bit of Europe and our ancestry.”

Lyla thought about her little boy traversing halfway across the world with a man she didn’t fully trust in a selection of countries that weren’t English-speaking. “I don’t know,” she said, apprehensive.

“I know that it would be his first trip overseas,” Mr. Novacek went on, “and I know that it would be the first time he’d be away from home, but it’s an excellent opportunity that I think he would seize in an instant. He’s almost fourteen. It’s time for him to do more.”

“It would be over Christmas?”

“Yes, he would miss Christmas at home, but we’re invited to attend The Royal Moscow Ballet’s annual Christmas Eve performance of The Nutcracker, and I was thinking about going to Rovaniemi in Finland to take in the Christmas festivities. That is, if August comes along.”

Lyla wondered where this Christmas spirit was when she was a child. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “Let me talk to Louis about it and I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” he said. “Please get back to me as soon as possible so that I can book his ticket if he’s coming along.”

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Lyla hung up the phone before reaching down into the play pen and scooping her son into her arms.

* * *

 

Louis pulled on a clean pair of sweats and a black t-shirt following his shower and met his wife and youngest son in the living room.

“August wanted to talk to you,” Lyla said, then added, “and so do I. But he’s first in line.”

“What about?” he asked, standing and making his way towards his eldest son’s room.

“No clue.”

Louis knocked softly on August’s door, “August? You wanted t’ talk?”

He heard the soft plucking of strings stop abruptly followed by August placing his guitar on the floor and walking to the door, “yeah.”

Louis entered the room, the unmistakable smell of teenager assaulting his nose. He said nothing, but left the door open a crack before sitting next to August on his made bed. “What’s up?”

“Can we go to Washington Square today?”

“Yeah, sure,” but there was something in August’s manner that made Louis hesitant. Why hadn’t he just asked Lyla? “Everythin’ okay?”

“Don’t be mad,” he said, suggesting that whatever he was about to say would, in fact, make his father mad. “On Wednesday morning, since my first class is at 8 and my next class isn’t until 2, I… went down to Washington Square.”

Louis was silent, though beneath the surface, molten lava was bubbling.

“Artie wasn’t there like he usually is,” August added slowly. “And… when I was there… the Wednesday before that, he wasn’t there. And… I just want to find out what happened.”

Still, Louis said nothing.

“Dad? I-“

“God dammit, August!” Louis shouted before taking a deep breath followed by a “sorry.” He didn’t want to be a father who yelled at his kid. “But what were you thinkin’?”

“Is everything okay?” Lyla’s voice came through the crack in the door.

“Everything’s fine,” Louis and August said in unison.

Lyla sighed audibly. “You’re telling me later,” she ordered before going back to the living room.

“Just… get it straight for me, man. I tell you – very clearly – that you’re not to go there without someone wit’ you, and you go anyway. Do I have that right?”

August nodded solemnly.

“This… ‘wizard’ is, as you put it, ‘crazy,’ so you decide to throw a target on your back and go even though I told you how it would ruin your mam and me if anything were to happen. Why?”

Louis’ tone was harsh, but his voice was quiet. August thought this was worse than the yelling.

“Sometimes… I feel like I just need to… go,” August said.

“Why?” Louis demanded. “You’re riskin’ your life when you do shit like that!” When August didn’t answer, discomfort plain as day on his face, Louis softened his tone. “I’m sorry, man. I really don’t mean t’ scold you like this. But I need you t’ explain your thought process wit’ this one.”

August sighed, “I guess… I don’t know… I know this is my home and that you and mom love me. I never had that before so sometimes it feels weird and going out there feels… normal.”

“Yeah?” Louis said quietly.

August nodded, seeming to be a little more confident. “Even at the boy’s home, it felt like it wasn’t really safe. I wasn’t happy. There were bullies and the adults were okay but not like they cared that much, and I felt sad a lot and had to stand up for myself a lot. And it’s weird not having to… do that.”

Louis draped his arm over August’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head, “sorry, August. I didn’t know.”

August just nodded.

“I think,” Louis began after some time of mulling silence. “I think we need to see about gettin’ you someone to talk to. Not me or your mam or Uncle Marshall, but someone who knows what they’re doin’ and can help, yeah?”

He gave a non-committal shrug.

Louis made a mental note to discuss the issue with Lyla as a matter of urgency, especially if August was feeling this way three years into his new life. “Now, this Arthur thing.”

“I just want to know what happened and see if he’s safe. And maybe ask around.”

“Sounds fine,” Louis said, standing. “We’ll go as a family.” Louis mussed August’s hair before opening the door. “Leave it open, yeah?” Louis suggested hopefully before returning to the living room. He sat on the sofa, closing his eyes, and leaned his head back with a sigh.

“What on Earth was that about?” Lyla asked. She had never heard Louis even raise his voice towards August and the loud exclamation had frightened her.

Louis breathed out quickly through his nose. “He went off to Washington Square Wednesday between classes without lettin’ anyone know.”

“What?!”

“And the Wednesday before. Who knows how many Wednesdays before that.” Louis explained about what August had said – how he felt. “I think we need to get someone good to see him. Talk to him. Someone that isn’t us or Marshall. Else he won’t move forward.”

Lyla agreed, “okay. I’ll look into it first thing tomorrow.”

“Good. That’s good,” Louis nodded. “He was also askin’ about his friend Arthur from when he was on the streets. Says he’s worried somethin’ happened to him and wants us to go down there to ask around. You and Ben want to come along?" 

Lyla nodded, “okay. Let me hop in the shower first.”

* * *

 

At Washington Square Park, August led his family to the fountain near which he used to play for money. Louis wanted to go with him as he asked strangers about Arthur, but August insisted it would be better if he went alone and besides, his parents could keep an eye on him just fine from the fountain. So, Louis and Lyla sat on the fountain’s edge with a bundled Ben napping in his stroller in front of them.

“How many times did I come to this place looking for you?” Lyla reminisced. “Or looking for August later?”

“Why do you think Fate didn’t have us run into each other here earlier? Why wait until the concert?” Louis pondered, remembering his own time spent by the fountain and arch, hoping to run into the girl of his dreams again.

“I don’t know,” Lyla sighed. “To make us appreciate each other more?” she joked.

Louis chuckled, “that’s the only possible explanation.” He scooted closer to her and kissed her cheek.

They watched as August wandered from person to person, asking about his friend. With most people, it was a quick question and a shake of the head, but when August found someone who did know or see Arthur, it was a longer conversation with eager questions from August and seemingly helpful comments from his interviewee.

“Our kid’s really somethin’,” Louis admired. “A real quiet kid and he seems unsure of himself a lot of the time, but you get him here and just look at him.”

Lyla nodded her agreement. August, in this environment, was assertive and had a quality about him that forced people to listen. He’d look them square in the eye, jaw set defiantly, and demand answers. He could read people well; he knew if people were hiding knowledge and he knew if people were legitimately unaware. A very intuitive child, Lyla agreed.

“Dad wants to take him to Moscow at Christmas,” Lyla said.

“What?” Louis asked, caught off-guard. “Why?”

“He’s been invited to some composer’s debut and wants to take August along to show him some of the world.”

Louis nodded, “and what do you think about that?”

“I think,” Lyla began slowly, “that August would say yes without hesitation. I think it would be good for him. I think it would make my father really happy. And I don’t want to say yes.”

“Why’s that?”

Lyla sighed, “pure selfishness. He’d be missing Christmas. Ben’s first Christmas. And the thought of him being in other countries where they don’t speak his language and where he’s so far away makes me want to lock him in his room and never let him leave.”

Louis laughed, “well I won’t let you do that.” He took her hand, “I think bein’ worried is part of the deal. But your da is a smart man and loves August in his way. He wouldn’t let anythin’ bad happen to him. It’d be great for August to see some of the world. I think we should bring it to August and let him decide – tell him your worries and the negatives along with the positives.”

“I already know his answer,” Lyla said miserably.

“You can’t keep him close forever, mo chroí. You’ve gotta let him grow.”

Lyla nodded.

“Besides, you still have at least a decade where you can be as overbearin’ as y’like with Ben,” he grinned, receiving a playful slap from his wife.

Lyla’s expression changed as she looked back at August. “Is that--?”

Louis looked over to their son and saw him talking with an older man that Louis recognized from the first time he unknowingly met his son. The man definitely looked unhinged as he glared at their son. He wore a cowboy hat and leather jacket, both looking like they had seen better days. The man’s face was thinner and angrier than Louis remembered, but it was the same man who had shouted for his son that day.

In an instant, Louis was nearly sprinting over to his son, protective instinct getting in the way of anything else.

“ _Where_ is Artie?” August demanded to the angry-looking man.

“Artie,” the man scoffed. “Artie who?”

Louis stood a short distance behind August, far enough away so that August could handle the situation his own way, but close enough that he could take down the man if needed. Lyla arrived next to him a short time after with napping Ben in tow.

“What did you do to him?” August accused, ignoring the childish remark of the man.

“I didn’t do nothing,” the man replied. “He was a washed-up has-been barely making anything, so I cut him loose.”

“Where did he go?”

“Why do you think I care?” the man spat. “Probably back to his crack-whore mother. Or under a bridge somewhere. Maybe he’s dead,” he smirked.

August stared intently at the man. Louis recognized the hesitation August had; it was the same hesitation Louis had when wanting to make an impact that didn’t involve shouting.

“Artie isn’t a has-been,” August said as he collected his thoughts. “He’s a will-be. And while he’s becoming a star, you’ll still be rotting away in that old theatre as a never-was.”

“You,” the man shouted, taking a hold of August’s jacket.

August barely flinched as the man pulled the boy close.

“Oi,” Louis stepped forward. He grasped August’s shoulder, “let go,” he said in a low voice.

The man glanced at Louis and stood, releasing August’s jacket. “I know you,” the man said.

“Yeah,” Louis said, subtly pulling August away from the man.

“You ought to keep your nose out of other people’s business,” the man threatened.

“You ought to keep your hands off my son,” Louis bit back.

The man smirked, “your son. How does it feel to be caged, August?”

“I’m not the one that’s caged,” August replied coolly. “Let’s go, dad.” August walked towards Lyla who was doing her best to hide her uneasiness. It took everything she had to not pull her son close and hug the life out of him.

The man stepped forward, shouting “you don’t—” but was stopped by Louis who placed his hand on the man’s chest.

Louis didn’t say anything. He simply stared into the man’s eyes, their cool blues matching each other’s intensity before the man backed off derisively. Louis turned from the man and joined his family, walking away without looking back.

It wasn’t until the family of four was on the train that any of them spoke. Even the awakened Ben was silent as he stared all around him.

“Are you okay?” Lyla blurted as if the question had been building up for ages, which it most certainly had been.

August nodded, “I’m okay, mom. I just wish I knew where Artie could have gone.”

“When you were with them, where would you go?” Louis asked.

“Nowhere,” August replied. “We’d go to the old theatre and Washington Square, and that would be it. I don’t even know what part of the city he was from.”

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Lyla assured him.

“And he wouldn’t be back at the theatre? Maybe that guy wasn’t bein’ honest?”

August shook his head. “He’s not there anymore. I checked.”

“You… checked?” Louis repeated, feeling the all-too-familiar sting of ignorance about his son’s activities.

August smirked, knowing exactly what his dad was thinking, “I didn’t go down there, dad. I talked to one of the kids from the theatre today. They said they haven’t seen Artie for at least a month.”

Louis felt the tension release. “Well, he could’ve just had enough of that lunatic and went off on his own. How old is he?”

August shrugged, “I think maybe fifteen or sixteen.”

“Plenty old enough to take care of himself. He probably found somewhere new.”

August nodded, not entirely convinced.

The family left the train and began walking back towards their home in silence again before Lyla decided to lighten the mood a bit. “August,” she began, glancing at Louis who was already on board.

“Yeah?”

“When I talked to Grandpa this morning, he was telling me about this invitation to stay in a Moscow at Christmas and see his composer friend perform. He was wondering if you’d like to go with him.”

August’s face lit up, “really?”

Lyla knew that his reaction would be positive but had still hoped for some doubt. “Yeah,” she smiled bravely. “He said that you would both go over to Europe when exams are done and you’d stay until the New Year. You’d miss Christmas and… we’d all miss you a lot, but does it sound like something you’d like to do?” She kept herself from vomiting up every single one of her worries or the wild things she thought could go wrong.

August looked to his father, who tried his best to hide any cues, and then looked back at his mother. “I’d be sad to miss Christmas… but I’d really like to go.”

Lyla nodded, “that’s okay.” Louis suspected he would be comforting Lyla a lot on Christmas Day. “I’ll call grandpa back and let him know that you want to go.”

“Okay!” August grinned, forgetting his worries for a little bit.


	25. December 2009

The end of term arrived quickly for August. He had finished classes at the end of November so only had to worry about exams. The practical exams where he had to play or compose were effortlessly easy, but he had to rely quite a bit on his parents, especially his mother, for studying and reviewing sloppy theory notes. Over the course of two weeks, he had six exams: two practicals and four theoreticals. He aced the practicals but was uncertain about his theory exams. But he would find out his results after Christmas so pushed his concerns to the back of his mind so that he could focus on the task at hand: packing.

He had never left the state of New York before and now he was going overseas to Europe to see several different countries! August was ecstatic and terrified all at once. He didn’t know what to expect on a plane ride, having never been on one, and he didn’t know how it would be to spend so much time with his grandfather. Conversation always came easily to them, music-related topics being the norm, and he felt a close bond to his grandfather, but he never spent more than a couple hours with him and it was always at some event where his parents were too. Now, August and his grandpa would be spending nearly two weeks alone with one another. He knew that his mother and grandfather didn’t have a good relationship, so he worried that he’d start to see a more negative side to his grandfather, maybe ruining their relationship. However, he knew that he sometimes tended to overthink things like his mother, so tried to push his apprehension to the side.

“How’s it coming?” His mother stood with his brother on her hip in the doorway of his room as August laboured over what he should bring with him to Europe and what he should leave behind.

“Um, okay, I guess,” August replied, a pile of t-shirts in both hands. “I don’t know how much I should actually bring,” he confessed.

August’s mother entered his room and laid his brother on his bed against the wall. “Well, the most important things are socks and underwear. Bring enough for every day plus some extra. But I’m sure grandpa will get anything you need washed, so don’t worry about bringing too much. We’ll pack a suit and your tux though. Though you may have outgrown that by now.” She spoke almost to herself. She went to his wardrobe and started rifling through his clothes, taking out a few key pieces before doing the same at his dresser. “Alright, so from what I’ve put on your bed, choose things that you think you’d actually wear, fold them, and pack them. Then come get some lunch.”

August nodded as his mother scooped up his brother and disappeared. He recognized the savoury scent of his father’s beef stew wafting in from the kitchen and his mouth began to water. Quickly, he shoved all of the underwear and socks he owned into his suitcase, followed by a sweater, a pair of jeans, a couple of t-shirts, and his grey suit, which had all been laid out by his mother on the bed.

In the kitchen, he sat in his usual spot at the table. His father served him his stew along with some fresh brown bread and then took his place next to August.

“All packed?” his dad asked, a mouthful of buttered bread dipped in stew muffling his words.

“Almost,” replied August. “I think all of my clothes are packed.”

His dad nodded, “yeah, and anythin’ else – toothbrush, soaps, whatever, can be packed in the mornin’. But you’ll also want somethin’ to do on the plane. Bring your headphones and you can watch some films on the screens in front of th’ seat. Bring your iPod too. Chargers, all that.” He waved his hand, dismissing the idea. “I’ll help you check you’ve everything later. Eat up.”

August finished his stew and helped clean up before returning to his room with his dad in tow. His father more or less took over, thinking of what he would pack and asking if August would like the same. In the end, all of his clothes and toiletries (sans those still needed), along with some different types of footwear for different occasions, were all packed in his checked luggage, while his backpack had different things for the plane ride like his headphones, iPod, a book, and a notebook in case he was inspired. His dad helped him set everything aside to be ready for the next morning.

Because their flight was early in the morning, everyone was to bed early. August showered and double checked that he had packed everything before settling in for a sleepless night. First, it took him ages to fall asleep, thoughts of tragic traumas plaguing him, and then he woke up nearly every hour or so, afraid that he and his parents would sleep through his alarm. He shouldn’t have been worried though. Shortly after three in the morning, a soft knock startled him out of a light sleep.

The door opened a crack, revealing his kind-eyed mother. She smiled at his droopy eyes staring back at her and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s time to get up, sweetheart,” she said softly.

It took him a moment to register the fact that his mother was dressed and ready to go. His eyes opened wide as he turned to view the time on his alarm clock. 3:17. “Shit,” he said before realizing what he had said. “I mean…” He panicked before sighing and saying, “sorry.”

His mother was shocked, never having heard her son curse in any form before, but smiled, visibly restraining herself from laughing. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just… don’t use that language in front of grandpa.” She patted his leg and stood, “we’re off in about twenty-five minutes.”

As soon as she left, August tore out of bed and to the bathroom to wash up, then back to his bedroom to dress and pack last minute things. His dad met him in the hallway as he lugged his suitcase to the foyer.

“Got everything?” he asked, letting August scoot by him.

“Think so.”

His dad nodded, then went to the bathroom and August’s bedroom to double check. “Don’t see anything left behind.” He nodded again. “Think you’re good.”

August pulled on his jacket and winter shoes while his parents dressed themselves and Ben, who was cranky and trying to sleep.

At quarter to four, the family left their home and made their way down to the street to catch their cab and go to JFK Airport. August carried his backpack while his dad carried his suitcase and his mom carried his brother. Half an hour later, they were at Departures where they would meet up with August’s grandfather to check in.

August’s grandfather was waiting at the check-in desk with his own suitcase and a briefcase.

“’Morning, dad,” his mother said, formally embracing August’s grandpa.

“Good morning,” he replied. “I didn’t think everyone would come along.”

“We both wanted to see August off,” his mother said, glancing at August and smiling.

His grandfather didn’t say anything but gave the impression that he didn’t fully approve of taking an infant out so early in the morning. “August, let’s check in and then we’ll be able to say our goodbyes.”

August followed his grandfather into the check-in queue where other early morning travellers were already waiting.

Lyla watched August engage in polite conversation with her father while they waited to check in. She was surprised to see how much he had grown in relation to his grandfather. He had definitely gone through some sort of growth spurt, now about as tall as Lyla herself, but he had been much shorter when she had last seen him with her dad. It was much more apparent now.

Her heart fluttered anxiously as the departure time inched closer. Louis, sensing her nerves, or maybe feeling them himself, grasped her hand tightly. “He’ll be alright,” he murmured.

Lyla nodded, not trusting her voice, and squeezed his hand back.

When they were through check-in and their suitcases disappeared down the conveyor, August and his grandpa rejoined Lyla and Louis.

“Let’s see,” Lyla said, standing as close to August as she could without embarrassing the young teenager. He handed her his passport with the boarding passes tucked inside. They would be going to Finland first before going to Moscow. Unfortunately, there weren’t any direct flights to Helsinki’s airport so they would stop over in London for their connecting flight. They were walking towards security when Lyla read the seat number. “Really, dad? First class?”

“It’s a long flight,” he replied. “He should be comfortable.”

Lyla doubted he would choose anything other than first class if he were travelling alone. “Don’t get used to it,” she joked to August.

When they reached the security line, Lyla could feel the sobs building up. She leaned her head on Louis’ arm and squeezed his hand. Without a word, he understood and stepped in front of Lyla to say goodbye to their son while she composed herself with the sleeping Ben strapped to her chest.

Louis shook his father-in-law’s hand with a curt nod and a “safe travels” before focusing his attention on his son. “Right, August,” he said, putting his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Stay safe, have fun, and if you need anything, call or email at any time. Don’t worry ‘bout the time difference or anythin’, yeah?” August nodded. “Good.” Louis pulled his son into a brief hug and murmured, “don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t do.”

August smiled and nodded again, “I’ll be smart.”

“Good man.”

After Lyla had said goodbye to her dad, reminding him of the numbers and bombarding him with pre-emptive suggestions for how to parent August compassionately, it was time to say goodbye to her son. Her eyes were already brimming with tears ready to spill in an instant.

“I’ll be okay, mom,” August said, evidently trying to avoid anything dramatic or embarrassing. He was fourteen, after all.

Lyla nodded and whispered “I know” before pulling him into an enthusiastic hug, which he returned fully. She made sure not to hold on too long. When they pulled apart, she breathed deeply and whispered with small pauses between phrases, not trusting her voice. “I know you’ll be okay and I know you’ll be smart. I will miss you. Call me if you can, okay?”

August nodded, knowing full well that the last request was more of a demand than anything. “Love you,” he said. “I’ll make sure I call.”

Lyla nodded and reached for Louis’ hand like it was her lifeline. “Love you.”

Thomas nodded at Louis and Lyla before ushering August in front of him to start the security process.

Louis wrapped his arms around Lyla whose lip quivered dangerously. They watched August and his grandpa snake slowly through the security line. Lyla’s tears spilled silently while Louis rubbed his one hand rhythmically on her back. She kept her eyes glued on August until he was completely through and on the other side of the security line. As he waited for his grandpa to finish the security process, he turned around to wave goodbye to his parents one last time. Louis and Lyla, both equally eager, waved back to their son. Then, when August and his grandfather were out of sight, Lyla buried her face in the crook of Louis’ arm and cried freely.

Louis rubbed her back, “he’ll be fine,” he assured her. “He’s a smart kid and he’ll be travellin’ in luxury, so he won’t be slummin’ it with anyone like his da. No reason to worry.”

Lyla nodded and pulled back, “I know. It’s stupid. I don’t know why I’m crying so much.”

“Yeah, stop that,” Louis joked. Lyla rolled her eyes and chuckled as he wiped the tears from her cheeks and from under her eyes. She had made the wise decision to forego any makeup. He kissed her forehead. “Right. Let’s get home.” He kissed her forehead again before taking her hand and leading her back out the way they came.

On the plane, August and his grandfather sat next to one another in their spacious first class seats, August getting to sit next to the window to see his very first take off. Once the emergency procedures and demonstration were completed, the plane began to taxi. It positioned itself ready for take off; the engines roared as the plane suddenly began moving forward faster and faster until it left the ground and began to climb higher and higher. All the while, August clutched the armrests tightly and consciously steadied his breathing as objects on the ground shrunk. He hadn’t realized how unsettling it would feel to be so high up off the ground.

“August, are you alright?” his grandpa asked, concerned for his pale grandson.

August nodded quickly and released his grip on the seat despite his brain shouting at him to keep holding on. He thought he’d get his headphones and iPod out to calm himself, but when he leaned forward to pick his bag up, a strange sensation of falling befell him and he snapped back in his seat.

He didn’t see his grandfather’s face as he leaned over to grab August’s backpack for him. “What do you want?”

“Headphones,” August managed. “And iPod.”

“You know,” his grandfather said, unzipping August’s bag and searching for the items his grandson requested. “Before your mother was born, after I had married your grandmother, we took a trip to Ukraine where your grandmother’s extended family lived. She had never flown before – her parents moved to the United States before she was born – and her reaction then was almost identical to yours now, though she tended to be more vocal about her panic. We flew a few more times after that and her fears were completely gone. By the end of this trip, I doubt you’ll fear flying anymore.” He handed his grandson the headphones and iPod.

August nodded but didn’t trust his voice. He hadn’t realized he _had_ a fear of flying until he was in the sky.

“You can recline your seat like this,” his grandfather said, demonstrating how on his own seat. “There’s a blanket and eye mask if you need on your left. Relax and get some sleep.”

August pulled out the blanket and face mask, following his grandfather’s instructions. He plugged his headphones in and chose his playlist before pulling the eye mask on, reclining, and falling asleep to the comforting singing voice of his father.

He gently awoke a couple of hours later. August put his chair into its upright position and removed his eye mask, cringing at the sudden assault of light on his eyes. To his right, his grandfather was reading a newspaper, reading glasses perched on his nose. August felt a lot less nervous and a bit more excited.

His grandfather noticed August’s movement and paused on what he was reading. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

His grandpa nodded, “good. Do you want something to eat?”

August nodded, his stomach voicing its agreement.

His grandfather pressed a button that resulted in a short ‘ding!’ and a flight attendant appeared shortly after.

August had heard that airplane food was terrible, but the little meal of pancakes and sausage was surprisingly satisfying. Maybe it was because they were in first class. After he had finished his food, he pulled out his book and read for a bit before feeling the need to put it away and watch a film instead.

The plane ride dragged on and August spent the majority of it with his headphones on, listening to music and thinking or looking out the window at the light nothingness around them. After the fear had passed, the journey just became boring. He supposed it was better that the plane ride wasn’t exciting. Excitement on a plane was never a good thing. 

One flight change and nearly twelve hours later, August and his grandfather were in Helsinki. They would spend the night and the next day there before heading over to Rovaniemi for Christmas festivities. August was in awe of the place, starting at the airport where he saw and heard the Finnish language all around him. It would only get more exciting over the next couple of weeks.

* * *

 

Lyla rushed to the phone, hair soapy and dripping all over the floor, a small towel covering very little. “Hello?”

“Hi mom, merry Christmas!” August’s voice sounded from the other end.

“Hello sweetheart,” she said, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “Merry Christmas! How is it going?”

“Really good. We’re getting ready for an actual ball right now. Grandpa thought we should call first though.”

“I’m glad you did. We’re just getting ready for Christmas dinner. Turkey’s in the oven. I was just about to hop in the shower,” she lied. “Your dad is out with Ben getting some last minute items I forgot. I’ll tell him you called. I hope the ball is a lot of fun. How was the ballet?”

“It was really good too. The dancers are really talented and graceful, and we got to meet them after, which was cool. Some of them are going to be at the ball too. Then tomorrow, we have another dinner with some important people and the day after that, we go to Prague and grandpa is going to show me some of the spots where our ancestors were.”

“That sounds really amazing, honey. I’m so happy you get to see all of this. I’ll let you go for now though.” She wanted to keep him on the phone for hours at a time, but didn’t want him to avoid calling home in the future. “Make sure you take lots of pictures and call me at least one more time before you get home.”

“I will,” August replied. “Love you.”

“I love you too. Bye-bye.”

“Bye.”

Lyla hung up the phone and headed back to the bathroom to finish her shower. The first couple of times her son had called, she had disintegrated into tears, missing him. Now, though, she was able to better contain herself, especially knowing that he was enjoying himself so much.

When she was out of the shower again, this time soap free, Louis and Ben were home. Ben played on the floor while Louis worked on setting up the living room to fit the smaller group for dinner.

Shortly after two o’clock, Lyla stirred the gravy and poured it carefully into the gravy boat, her stomach growling in anticipation of a nice Christmas meal. It was different from the year before with August gone. Nick, Emily, Marshall, Maya, Mateo, and Brian shared the meal with Louis, Lyla, and Ben, the babies experiencing Christmas for the first time.

“Alright,” Lyla said, placing the gravy boat on the table and sitting next to Louis. “Let’s eat!”

Mateo sat in a high chair between Maya and Marshall, painting a Picasso with creamed corn and potatoes, some of which made it into his mouth, while Benjamin was in his own chair between Louis and Lyla on the opposite side of the table, Louis feeding him small helpings off his own plate.

“Maya,” Lyla said between bites, the both of them happily indulging in the wine they missed out on the Christmas before. “How is that new job going?”

Marshall snickered, receiving a sharp look from Maya.

“It’s going really well. We’ve managed to furnish most of the new place because of it.”

“Wow,” Lyla responded, surprised. “It’s only been – what? Two months?”

Maya nodded, “yeah. It pays really well. I’ve managed to work Saturday and Sunday every weekend.”

“What is it that you’re doing?”

“Well,” Marshall cut in.

Maya rolled her eyes. “Go ahead.”

Marshall grinned, “our Maya here, talent that she is, got a job in the, uh, adult film industry.”

“What?!”

Maya shrugged and smiled. “I have a great body,” she half-joked. “But it’s pretty vanilla stuff. I don’t think I’d ever go for anything more intense.” She didn’t know if that statement was entirely true. “I’ve only done solo stuff so far, but I—”

“I think the details might be a bit much for our Lyla,” Marshall guffawed at Lyla’s surprised expression.

Lyla felt her face getting red but laughed, “it’s just not what I was expecting. How do you even get into something like that?” She took another sip of wine.

“Why, darlin’? Interested?” Marshall teased, waggling his eyebrows.

“No! I just—” Lyla put her face in her hands.

“Lou,” he mock-whispered, “why’s your girl lookin’ for satisfaction in porn?”

“Oh my God,” Lyla exclaimed, her face red and hot from wine and embarrassment. The others were beginning to decline into fits of laughter at her expense.

“Ah, Marshall,” Louis joined in. “This one’s wild. Always lookin’ for ways to spice things up.”

Marshall and the others, caught off-guard at Louis’ mocking of his wife, roared with laughter, fuelled by alcohol. Even the babies joined in, though they didn’t know why. Lyla glared at Louis, face red and smile wide, before reaching over to push him. “We’re getting a divorce,” she joked.

“Leave ‘im with a couple of those videos before you go, yeah?” Marshall suggested. “Least that way when he misses you, he can just press play and jerk it.” He motioned crudely with his hand.

“Oh my God!” Lyla repeated her face buried in her hands as she laughed.

Louis simply shook his head at his brother.

Much to the relief of Lyla, the conversation quickly moved on to other hilarity-inducing themes.

It wasn’t until Mateo and Ben started to become fussy, seeming to feed off of each other, that things began to wind down.

“That’s enough of that, Matty,” Marshall reprimanded, wrangling his child into his snowsuit as he screamed bloody murder. Meanwhile, Louis had taken Benjamin into their bedroom as he cried woefully, hiccupping through the tears, exhausted. Neither child had been able to catch their usual afternoon nap and were expectantly uncooperative. Eventually, Marshall enclosed his son in his snowsuit and Louis laid his son in the crib, leaving him to cry himself to sleep.

Everyone said their goodbyes and left Louis and Lyla’s apartment. Little Ben was still crying, though there was less energy behind his wails and there were yawns interspersed between. Louis and Lyla sat on the sofa that was pushed up against the wall for some space. There was still a lot of cleaning to do, but the food was put away and that was the important part.

“Another good Christmas,” Louis said, patting Lyla’s leg, both of them exhausted.

She nodded then said, “but I miss August.”

Louis nodded, “yeah me too, but he’s havin’ fun.”

“Mhmm,” Lyla said half-heartedly. Then, “did you know about Maya’s job?!”

“No clue,” Louis laughed. “Christ, she and Marshall are perfect for each other.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that.”

“Fifteen-year-old Marshall would lose his mind if he knew he’d one day be livin’ with a porn star.”

Lyla giggled and then they sat silently in each other’s company, hands entwined. “Thanks for your help today,” Lyla said a short while later.

“It’s my pleasure,” he kissed her.

“We need to move though.”

“Yes,” Louis agreed eagerly. “The walls are closin’ in. And—” He stopped himself.

“And what?”

Louis sat up a little straighter, “well, I was lookin’ at different neighbourhoods. People say that Scarsdale is the best place for a family to go in New York and the train is only an hour from Manhattan. There’re some nice houses there. And with the money your da gave us, we could put a large down payment on it and reduce the monthly costs to us. I…” he paused for a minute, unsure whether to continue. “Well, I had a dream the other night that we had another kid – a little girl, looked just like you. And I thought… well, I thought it was a really nice dream.”

Lyla smiled admiringly and pushed his hair back. “It does sound nice. Any houses catch your eye?”

Louis nodded and retrieved his laptop from their bedroom. “Ben’s sound asleep,” he said, taking his seat next to Lyla. He logged onto a housing website he had signed up to and found his saved places. “I’ll show you my favourite first.” He clicked on a picturesque white house with a large front lawn and spacious backyard. The interior was open with dark hardwood floors and clean cream walls throughout. Four bedrooms, two and a half baths, a finished carpeted basement, and enough space for decent Christmas dinners. “In theory, we could pay for the whole house using your da’s gift and still have a large chunk left in savings. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about a mortgage. Just pay everythin’ else. August’s old enough to take the train by himself or he could go in with me. Still wouldn’t need a car unless we really wanted one. What d’you think?”

“I think… we need to go see some of these houses,” she said after a moment. “And decide when we’re supposed to have this little girl of ours.”


	26. NYE 2009

_New Year’s Eve 2009_

**Lyla & Louis**

“He’s not going to have a good sleep and he’ll be cranky all day tomorrow,” Lyla complained, irritated at Louis’ insistence on taking Ben with them to Marshall and Maya’s New Year’s party.

“He’ll be fine,” Louis returned. “Mateo’s goin’ to be there and will sleep just fine in Maya’s room away from the party. Ben’ll do the same. It’s Marshall’s first party in the new place. We can’t not go.”

“You go then. I’ll stay home with Ben. I’m not much the party type anyway.”

“I want you to be there,” Louis urged. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Louis,” she whined, exasperated.

“Please, love,” he begged. “Ben is already sleepin’. He’ll sleep all the way to Marshall’s and might wake up when we get there ‘cause of the noise, but’ll be off as soon as he’s with Matty. You’re makin’ a mountain out of a molehill.”

Lyla set her jaw and kept quiet, annoyed by his last comment and repeated insistence on taking Ben with them. It had started as a minor disagreement and had escalated into a full-on argument, each party insisting they were right and being uncharacteristically stubborn. Maybe it was the absence of their eldest son that made them less understanding of one another. “Fine,” she resigned. “But as soon as he starts getting fussy, I’m leaving him with you.”

“Deal,” Louis said, holding out his hand good-naturedly.

Lyla couldn’t help but smirk and shook his hand.

With Ben strapped to Lyla’s chest and the diaper bag slung over Louis’ shoulder, the three of them started their train journey into Brooklyn. It wasn’t five minutes into their subway ride that Ben woke up and began squirming and whining. Lyla shot Louis a dagger-filled look before unstrapping her son from her chest and passing him over to his father who said nothing. She placed the diaper bag on her lap and all but ignored Louis and Ben for the remainder of the journey.

Shortly after nine, they arrived at Marshall and Maya’s and knocked on the door. Marshall answered the door and Lyla pushed moodily past him with the diaper bag hanging off her shoulder, leaving Louis to settle Ben.

“What’s eatin’ her?” Marshall asked, stepping aside so Louis could enter.

“She didn’t want to bring Ben. I said he’d be fine, then he spent the whole ride over cryin’ and now she’s annoyed with us both.”

Ben’s face was red and his fussiness had turned into a full screaming fit. Louis cringed away from the tiny human strapped to his chest.

“Right,” Marshall said, his voice deeper and more commanding than usual. The tone caused Ben to pause for a moment before continuing. “Give ‘im to me. I’ll put him upstairs.”

Louis didn’t hesitate to unstrap his son from his chest and push him into his brother’s arms.

“Beer’s in the fridge,” suggested Marshall as he ushered his screaming nephew into Maya’s room.

Upon hearing her son’s shrill cry as she and Maya set up Mateo’s old bassinet, Lyla closed her eyes and took a deep breath to try and soothe herself. It wasn’t so much the crying that annoyed her but the fact that she knew that this was how it would play out. “Where’s Louis?” she sighed.

“The same place you’re goin’,” replied Marshall, handing Ben to Maya. “Go get yourself a drink.”

Lyla didn’t protest and disappeared down the attic ladder to join with the growing crowd. In the kitchen, she found Emily sitting at the table and joined her, venting about Ben and Louis to her friend just like she had done to Maya moments before. Maya met her in the kitchen and shoved a drink with a little too much gin and not enough tonic into her hand before going to mingle.

“What did you do to our son?” Lyla asked once Marshall was down in the kitchen getting a beer from the fridge.

“Matt’s psychedelic night light. Shit’s a genius invention.”

“Why don’t you ever call him Mateo?” Emily asked.

“Doesn’t look like a ‘Mateo’,” Marshall shrugged, opening his beer and taking a sip. “What kind of Mateo is blonde?”

“His hair will darken,” said Lyla.

“Not enough to be a Mateo,” he replied before going to meet some of his friends from work who had just arrived.

Lyla spent the next two hours drinking what Maya handed her, checking on Ben, and getting progressively more drunk. It was close to midnight as she sat next to Emily on the sofa, chatting with some of Maya’s work friends while Maya was off flirting mercilessly with another work friend.

As one of the girls spoke about something too mundane for an inebriated Lyla to comprehend, she felt someone playing with her hair. She tilted her head back and received a kiss from an equally inebriated Louis. Instantly, the petty animosity was washed away, and Lyla abandoned Emily wordlessly to be with her husband.

Louis and Lyla found themselves in a corner of the living room holding each other and shouting out the countdown along with everyone else. At “one,” they shouted, “happy new year” and kissed each other. While most of the others got back to drink or dancing or talking, Louis and Lyla remained attached to one another like a couple of teenagers at their first party.

Though under the influence, every sensation seemed heightened. Louis’ strong touch and soft tongue sent Lyla into a frenzy; she ran her hands down his body to rest in the back pockets of his jeans, wanting to rip them off but settling for some light fondling. Locked in passionate kisses together, Louis toyed with the zipper of her dress, wanting to reveal and kiss the breasts underneath. They were as close as they could be together, but it wasn’t enough.

“Get a room!” someone shouted followed by laughter from those in the surrounding area.

Lyla removed her hands from her husband’s pocket and rested them on his back while Louis wrapped his arms around her. Lyla rested her head against his chest. They held each other close, but the anticipation grew; they needed each other. “Upstairs,” Louis whispered, voicing Lyla’s own thoughts.

It was more than alcohol that made their legs feel rubbery as they climbed into Maya’s room.

“I’m just going to check on Ben,” Lyla whispered before looking in on the two sleeping babies.

Louis followed impatiently behind her, kissing her neck and running his hands under her dress up her thigh until they rested between her legs, his fingers searching and playing, causing Lyla to squirm. She turned around and kissed him while throwing his jacket to the floor and pushed him away from the sleeping duo for some privacy.

His hands were at her dress’s zipper again, this time pulling it completely to reveal her pale breasts, which he cupped in his hands as Lyla worked on his belt and jeans. She dropped to her knees, pushing down his jeans and boxer-briefs enough so that her access to him was unimpeded. Gently, she took him in her hand, stroking rhythmically before taking him fully in her mouth. He closed his eyes and breathed, feeling her textured tongue rolling over his skin.

Acting on impulse rather than thought, Louis pushed Lyla back and joined her on the floor, kissing her breasts and running his tongue around her nipples. She urged him from his knees to a sitting position against the nearby wall before mounting him and feeling his hardness glide effortlessly into her. Both Lyla and Louis moaned breathlessly, their desires being satisfied.

Louis buried his face in Lyla’s neck, her curls sticking to the sweat on his cheek; he pinched and pulled her nipples with his teeth; she held onto his hair with the vice grip that she always had and expertly rode him, feeling the spark of orgasm building with every grinding motion.

“Oi,” came a sudden loud whisper, “there are children here.”

The couple froze, breathing heavily and fighting the urge to become exhibitionists. Louis looked over Lyla’s shoulder to see his brother and a giggling Maya. He was about to chew him out when he saw the swelling state of Maya’s face.

“We’ve got a bit of a situation,” his brother explained. “Maya’ll be up here for the rest of the night. Go use my room if y’need.”

Louis and Lyla didn’t need to be told twice; as soon as Marshall and Maya’s attention was focused elsewhere, the two were making themselves decent enough to make their way urgently to Marshall’s room.

They didn’t notice the murmurs and jokes at their expense as they descended the steps from Maya’s room and disappeared into Marshall’s, slamming and locking the door behind them. Immediately, their hands were again busy, undressing the other, more fully now that they had more privacy. Louis wasted no time leading Lyla to the bed, pushing her down, and thrusting into her roughly.

“Louis,” she cried, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling his hair harder as she got closer to climax.

“Fuck,” he breathed into her ear, feeling her contract around him with every thrust until she was reduced to tremors and muted whimpers. She dug her nails into his back, feeling a jolt of electricity every time contact was made between Louis’ body and Lyla’s. “Lyla,” he groaned, his orgasm building and his pace increasing until he began to come, spilling himself into Lyla who moaned in response.

They remained still for a moment, breathing deeply, Louis on top of Lyla. He leaned close to Lyla’s face and connected his lips with hers. They shared a slow kiss before Louis rolled off of his wife; they lay silently next to each other, fingers entwined, listening to each other’s breaths and falling asleep to the comforting white noise.

Lyla woke a little while later, urgently needing the bathroom. It took her a moment to remember she was in Marshall’s room, Louis sleeping soundly next to her. Her head a little clearer despite everything spinning, she covered Louis with a sheet so he’d be a bit more decent. She then straightened her dress, which acted as a belt around her middle rather than a dress in its scrunched up and dishevelled state. She turned the dress around, pulled down the skirt, and zipped up the back so that she looked somewhat presentable. Her panties were in a bunch on the floor, but weren’t in a state to put back on, so she tucked them into Louis’ jeans pocket to make certain they weren’t left behind when they left. Then, quite urgently, she unlocked the bedroom door.

Lights were still on and the TV was playing, but most people had left. A few stragglers slept in the living area, but no one was awake to see Lyla speed walk into the bathroom to complete her business.

Once finished, she tiptoed around the kitchen and living room, turning off the lights and TV, and double checking that the door was locked. Before heading back to sleep, she decided to check on Ben.

Marshall and Maya were sleeping snuggled next to each other in Maya’s bed, the former snoring loudly and the latter seeming perfectly content with the noise. Her swollen purple face, though, caught Lyla by surprise; she looked like she would be in immense pain when she woke up. An abandoned bag of water, which Lyla suspected was once ice, lay abandoned on the floor. She made a mental note to pry later and find out what happened.

Lyla snuck to Mateo’s old bassinet and peered in to see Ben sleeping soundly, no sign of sleep deprivation or crankiness. She thought it best to leave him be and get a couple more hours of shuteye before they’d have to head back home.

Back in Marshall’s room, Lyla joined Louis under the sheet she had draped over him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her head on his chest, listening to his steady breathing and falling asleep instantly.

* * *

 

**Marshall & Maya**

Marshall turned on Mateo’s nightlight – an underwater display of fish swimming by with soft music lulling the viewer to sleep – and said goodnight. Maya followed suit, her sparkling silver dress glimmering when it caught the blue light.

“Night-night, mijo,” she whispered, kissing her hand and then placing it on Mateo’s forehead. Her heels clacked on the hardwood floor as she walked toward the steps leading into the living room.

“Y’do know that you’re not goin’ out, right?” Marshall said as Maya descended from her room to the floor below.

“You should always dress to impress,” Maya responded as Marshall began his own descent. He slid a noise-cancelling mat over the doorway to keep Mateo sleeping soundly as guests began to arrive. “You could dress it up a little bit,” she suggested.

“My good looks are impressive enough,” he joked. He went to the kitchen and opened his second beer of the night. “I’ll go talk t’ the neighbours. You do you.”

Maya raised her gin and tonic in the air and took a sip.

Marshall and Maya were treating their New Year’s party as a sort of housewarming now that they had completely furnished the space with the help of Maya’s paychecks. Guests brought a lot of alcohol and food on top of what Marshall had bought. They had invited their neighbours, friends from work, and close family and friends, and the place, though spacious, became crowded quite quickly. It was exactly the kind of atmosphere Marshall and Maya each thrived in.

Shortly after nine, Marshall answered their door to reveal two irritated parents and a fussy baby. Lyla pushed moodily past Marshall with the diaper bag hanging off her shoulder, leaving Louis to settle Ben.

“What’s eatin’ her?” Marshall asked, stepping aside so Louis could enter.

“She didn’t want to bring Ben. I said he’d be fine, then he spent the whole ride over cryin’ and now she’s annoyed with us both.”

Ben’s face was red and his fussiness had turned into a full screaming fit. Louis cringed away from the tiny human strapped to his chest.

“Right,” Marshall said, his voice deeper and more commanding than usual. The tone caused Ben to pause for a moment before continuing. “Give ‘im to me. I’ll put him upstairs.”

Louis didn’t hesitate to unstrap his son from his chest and push him into his brother’s arms.

“Beer’s in the fridge,” suggested Marshall as he ushered his screaming nephew into Maya’s room.

Upon hearing her son’s shrill cry as she and Maya set up Mateo’s old bassinet, Lyla closed her eyes and took a deep breath to try and soothe herself. It wasn’t so much the crying that annoyed her but the fact that she knew that this was how it would play out. “Where’s Louis?” she sighed.

“The same place you’re goin’,” replied Marshall, handing Ben to Maya. “Go get yourself a drink.”

Lyla didn’t protest and disappeared down the attic ladder to join with the growing crowd.

“She’s _pissed_ at Louis,” Maya laughed. “She came up here ranting about how she knew it was a bad idea and how he wouldn’t listen and whatever. So weird.”

“Like stepping into the Twilight Zone,” Marshall agreed, finishing the bassinet set up. “Wasn’t sure they knew how to argue. Alright, hand him to me. I’ll get him down.”

Maya did as requested and then disappeared from her room as well.

Marshall placed the squirming, red-faced Ben into the bassinet. “What’s up, nephew? If you wake Matty up, you’re goin’ to have to deal with me.” Marshall rolled the bassinet across the floor next to Mateo’s crib. He was sleeping soundly. The kid would sleep through anything. Marshall flipped Mateo’s underwater night light around to face Ben, which immediately caught the baby’s eye. His cries began to quiet with the occasional interruption of a yawn. Soon, he settled, mesmerised by the swimming fish and soothing music, and his eyelids began to droop lazily. When Marshall was sure he was sleeping, he crept out of the room muttering, “best twenty bucks I’ve ever fucking spent.” On the ladder, he pulled the sound proofing over the entry to block noise from disturbing the infants.

“What did you do to our son?” Lyla asked as Marshall got a beer from the fridge. She was sitting at the kitchen table talking with Emily.

“Matt’s psychedelic night light. Shit’s a genius invention.”

“Why don’t you ever call him Mateo?” Emily asked.

“Doesn’t look like a ‘Mateo’,” Marshall shrugged, opening his beer and taking a sip. “What kind of Mateo is blonde?”

“His hair will darken,” said Lyla.

“Not enough to be a Mateo,” he replied before going to meet some of his friends from work who had just arrived.

In a short matter of time, Marshall had managed to get in the good graces of one of Maya’s very attractive work friends. When the clock struck twelve and everyone was partnered up, he had kissed her, planning to take her into his bedroom and do more than kiss. But he and Maya had agreed that whoever sealed the deal first could use Marshall’s room as Maya’s was otherwise predisposed. And as Marshall began walking his girl towards his room, Maya was already closing the door behind her. He sighed and instead lead the girl to the one walk-in storage closet that was always a little bit too hot. It wasn’t as though either of them were looking for much romance.

As soon as the door was closed, Marshall was undoing his jeans while the girl took off her own. As soon as she peeled her jeans off, she was on her knees taking Marshall eagerly in her mouth. He rested his hands on her head, guiding her to take him deeper, which she did with all of the talent that her profession offered. At full attention, Marshall pulled the girl up and sat her on a pile of plastic Rubbermaid boxes; she lifted her legs and wrapped them around Marshall as he thrust inside her in rapid movements and sucked the skin at the crook of her neck. Marshall could feel beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face and the middle of his back from the natural heat of the storage room and the frantic movements of the duo.

But they weren’t in the closet for long. Reasonably satisfied (as much as can be expected from a quickie with a stranger in a storage closet), the two emerged as sweaty messes and went their separate ways.

Marshall grabbed another beer from the fridge and took a quick survey of the guests. Most people were still partying. Some were making out, others were talking and laughing, or dancing or playing some game. It was still quite crowded and Marshall liked that. He hadn’t had a party of his own in a very long time and was thankful for his new place.

He went to join a group playing cards on the floor when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his bedroom door quickly open before slamming shut just as abruptly. With the music and conversation, it didn’t look like anyone noticed aside from him. Marshall walked to his door and knocked, loud enough for Maya and her man to hear, if not loud enough for anyone else. “Maya,” he said loudly, “y’alright?”

“We’re fine,” the man snapped, Maya’s voice also answering, though a great deal more muffled and incomprehensible, sending red flags flying.

Marshall swung the door open and slammed it behind him causing the man sweating over Maya to jump back revealing a visible bleeding scratch on the side of his face where Maya’s fingernails had raked him. Maya was in a state herself, naked, with one hand covering her eye while the other hovered uselessly under a bleeding nose.

Marshall calmly put himself between the man and the bed, and, without taking his eyes off the dickweed, opened his bedside drawer for a box of tissues, which he gently tossed to Maya without a word. He then walked purposefully towards the man who instantly stood up straight, trying to appear bigger than he was. “And just what’s goin’ on here?” Marshall said, not waiting for or wanting an answer.

“Fuck off,” the man replied, pushing Marshall with the strength of a drunk man.

“That the best ya got?” Marshall taunted. But, again, he didn’t wait for a response. As the man lunged forward with his fist, Marshall beat him to the punch, his knuckles colliding with cheekbone. Winded, the man was caught off-guard as Marshall pushed him roughly through the window onto the fire escape; it was all he could do to restrain himself from tossing him over the rail, enraged as he was. Marshall slammed the window shut and locked it, watching as the man shouted unheard obscenities and made crude gestures; he tried to open the window and tried to break it, but failed before climbing up the steps leading to Maya’s room.

“You lock your window?” Marshall asked, watching the weasel try his luck at another entrance.

“Yeah,” Maya replied quietly.

Having failed, the man stumbled back down the stairs, shouting again. Marshall held his gaze until the man was fed up enough to climb down the fire escape.

Without a word, Marshall exited his room and went to the freezer for ice. “Nick!” he hollered over the music, his friend playing some drinking game at the kitchen table.

“Yeah.”

Marshall leaned close so only Nick could hear, “if y’see a fuckin’ gom with a scratch on his face, fuckin’ kill ‘im, yeah?” He patted Nick’s shoulder before returning to his bedroom, not bothering to listen for Nick’s reply.

Maya was still nursing her bleeding nose when he returned, but the blood was now mixed with mucus and tears. Marshall sat on the bed in front of Maya. “Let me see,” he said, pulling her hands down and holding tissue to catch any blood.

“Is it broken?” she asked with a shaky breath.

“Think so,” he replied. “But I think it’ll heal fine. Not crooked or anything.” He had brought a damp tea towel with him and used it to clean up the dried blood around her face. “Doesn’t look like it’s bleeding much anymore. Hold this.” She took the tea towel from him and held it to catch anything escaping from her nose. “Can you open your eye?” he asked, examining the swollen area around her seeping eye. He saw a gentle flutter of her eyelashes, but it was too swollen to open completely. “I think everthing’ll heal just fine, but here.” He handed her a dry tea towel full of ice and guided her hand to her eye before going to his dresser and pulling out a black t-shirt. “Here.” He pulled the shirt over her head as she adjusted her hold on the tea towels. “What the fuck, My?” he said once she was settled again.

“I know,” she cried, a fresh wave of salty tears falling down her face. “We were all ready—” she hiccupped, “—to fuck and then… once he has me out my clothes, he starts saying ‘oh, girls like you fuck bareback’ and tries to get me to fuck him without a condom, saying ‘you’re on the pill, right?’ Like that’s what I’m worried about.” She took a deep breath, but then began vomiting up more complaints. “I can’t get anyone but douchebags now. I haven’t been with anyone new since before Mateo was born!” she cried.

“Since before—But you’ve gone out loads.”

“I know!” Maya wailed. “But there’s some fucking conspiracy. Suddenly safe sex doesn’t exist. When I was still breastfeeding, I’d leak, and they’d be all ‘oh, you can’t get pregnant when you’re breastfeeding’ or whatever other excuse. So, I just go and see people I always see because I have some invisible sign that I can’t take off me that says, ‘will have unprotected sex’. Like…” she trailed off, frustrated.

“They’re fucked up. Go to classier places,” Marshall joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I can’t! Except for this fucking porn, I’m broke. And I can’t get a job because I have no prospects and I do _porn_ ,” she sobbed.

“Right,” Marshall began, frustrated at the entirety of the situation. “Fucking quit the porn. You got some cash and now it’s done, yeah? Then, I don’t know – get your GED, go to school, become a—uh, one of those people who plans things or designs things. Somethin’ y’like doin’. You’re not even thirty yet. By the time you do get t’ thirty, you could have your diploma and startin’ work for some high-end company and doin’ guys who aren’t riddled with disease.”

“I’m almost twenty-nine,” she said quietly.

“Jesus fucking Christ, who cares?” Marshall rolled his eyes, “just stop doin’ things that are makin’ you fuckin’ miserable and gettin’ y’into situations like this.”

Maya didn’t say anything while she considered what she’d like to do with her life. Her nose was neither bleeding nor running. She dabbed at it one last time before drying her face with a clean tissue. After a moment, she asked cheekily, “so why do you have so much tissue in your bedside drawer?”

“Why d’you think?” Marshall smirked, tossing Maya’s used tissues into his bin.

“Good quality,” she commended.

Marshall nodded, “don’t need more of a mess than there already is.” He put the tissues back in his drawer and stood up straight. “Right, what d’you want to do?”

“Sleep away my troubles.”

“Wanna stay here or go up to your room?”

“My room,” she said. “But,” she motioned to her face, not wanting their guests to see what had happened.

Marshall pulled a hoodie off of the hook on the back of his door. “Put this on, pull the hood up.”

She did as she was told and followed Marshall as he checked that no one was hanging around, acting as bodyguard as she made her way up the steps to the attic. He followed behind her. Maya pushed the sound proof mat out of the way, stepped up, stopped abruptly and stepped down, facing Marshall with as much shock as her swollen face could muster. “Oh my God,” she whispered, grinning. She moved to the side so that Marshall could step up and peer into the room to see Louis seated, propped against the wall with Lyla grinding enthusiastically on top of him, surprising both of the unexpected voyeurs with her intensity. Evidently, whatever state they had been in was too desperate for either of them to remove much clothing, so they were pretty well modest despite being in the throes of passion, Louis’ head leaning against Lyla’s chest while her fingers were lost in his hair, holding on tightly.

“Oi,” Marshall loudly whispered, “there are children here.” Maya giggled as the couple froze. Marshall and Maya climbed into the room, replacing the mat.

Lyla leaned her head on Louis’ shoulder, breathing heavily, as Louis glared, unfocused, at his brother. He was about to tell him off when Maya pulled down her hood to reveal her battered face.

“We’ve got a bit of a situation,” Marshall explained. “Maya’ll be up here for the rest of the night. Go use my room if y’need.” He ushered Maya to her bed without further explanation, not waiting to see what the couple would decide. But the slight increase in the noise level as they removed then replaced the mat told him that they left.

“So,” Marshall whispered after a moment of silence while Maya got settled, “Lyla.”

“Right?!” Maya responded in a loud astonished whisper. “I would never think Lyla would have it in her. But she was _riding_ him.”

“I always see her wit’ her hands in his hair. Just thought it was a weird husband-wife thing. Didn’t think it was their _thing_.”

Maya laughed and then winced from the pain it caused.

Marshall took the melting ice. “I’m going t’ get more ice.”

Maya shook her head, “it’s too cold.”

“It’s s’posed to be. If you don’t ice, you’re goin’ to swell up worse than y’already are.” Marshall disappeared from the attic and reappeared moments later with a new collection of ice this time wrapped in a sandwich bag to keep some of the liquid in.

However, Maya had slipped into bed without another thought and had fallen asleep without issue, so Marshall was left to ice her face for her. Cradling her head in his arm and holding the ice in place, Marshall stretched out on the bed and promptly fell asleep himself.


	27. February 2010

_February 2010_

_Tell your secrets to the night_

_You do yours and I do mine_

_So we won't have to keep them all inside_

Louis’ voice rang out over the supportive crowd as The Connelly Brothers played the last song of their set.

_Yes darlin' save yourself_

_Oh won't you save yourself_

_So go on and save yourself for someone else_

 

Marshall and Nick joined their voices with Louis’, harmonizing effortlessly as they played the last notes of their song.

 

_Are you gonna break?_

 

“Thank you, Atlantic City. We’re done for th’ night, but you’ll see us millin’ about,” Louis said into his mic. “Come say hi if y’see us. Galleon of Suburbia is next.” The crowd cheered politely as The Connelly Brothers departed the stage.

“C’mon, let’s get some drinks,” Brian said. “See if any’un’ll buy us one.”

“Me and Louie will join yous in a sec,” Marshall said, motioning for his brother to come with him.

“What is it, Marshall?”

Marshall led Louis across the street to the dingey hotel in which the band would spend the night. “I think Da sent an email through the website,” he said as they climbed the stairs.

Louis stopped, “why d’you think I’d want to read it?”

“C’mon,” Marshall commanded. “I haven’t read it yet. It’ll take two seconds. See what he wants.”

They entered the small room that the band was sharing to cut costs and Louis sat on the twin bed while Marshall logged onto his laptop. 

“Right, so he sent it last night. So, I guess mornin’ for him.” Marshall opened the email and read:

 

_Hi, this is for Marshall and Louis. I didn’t know how to get into contact with you so I hope this works. My name is John Connelly and I guess I’m your half-brother—_

 

“Half-brother?” Louis repeated. “Da said his other family didn’t know ‘bout us.” 

Marshall shrugged, “guess he told them,” and continued reading.

 

_\--I wanted to let you know that Dad died last week._

 

“Shit,” Marshall interjected.

 

_He was diagnosed with liver cancer about five years ago. He had surgery and it went away but came back last year. He had prostate cancer when I was younger and was sick of the whole process so decided to just let it run its course. It wasn’t really a surprise. But I guess he knew it was near the end because he told me about you and made me promise not to tell the rest of my family._

_We have the funeral today so I’m writing this quickly before everyone else starts waking up and getting ready._

_Dad said he met you (Louis) a couple of summers ago and it didn’t go well. You were mad at him and that makes sense because what he did was selfish and stupid. I want to be mad at him, but he was good to me and it’s hard to be mad at a dead man._

_I’m sorry if this catches you off-guard, but I thought you should know._

_Also, I’m hoping that we could meet someday if you’re both up to it. I’m going to be in America with some friends in July (planned before I found out any of this). We’ll be in California, but I’d be willing to travel to the east coast if you want to meet me. If not, even emailing would be good._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_\- J_

_PS: Your music is really great._

 

Marshall and Louis sat in silence once the letter had been read, Marshall feeling mournful, Louis feeling guilty.

“I’m goin’ to write him back,” Marshall decided, sitting himself comfortably in his chair and hitting ‘reply’.

Louis nodded as the keys began clacking away. “I’m goin’ to shower.”

“Don’t want to go out for drinks?”

Louis shrugged, though Marshall wasn’t watching him, and said nothing.

When he was out of the shower a short time later, feeling refreshed, Marshall had Louis read his response (not just to check for grammatical errors):

 

_Hi John,_

_Marshall here. Thanks for letting us know about Da. We weren’t close for obvious reasons, but it’s too bad we never got to fix things._

_Me and Louis are in New Jersey right now and are touring the east coast up to the end of March. Your email caught us a bit off guard. But we would like to meet you. In July, we’re playing a festival in San Francisco near where we used to live so maybe we meet there? Tickets are about $50 but I’ll see if it’s possible to get in free. How many friends are you travelling with?_

_Email me at my private address mjconnelly1970@hotmail.com instead of through the website._

 

_Thanks again,_

_Marshall_

 

“What do you think? Good enough?” Marshall asked.

“It’s fine,” Louis said non-committedly.

Marshall hit send and pulled on his jacket. “Sure you don’t want t’come out?”

Louis shook his head and lay on the bed with the laptop, “go on. I’ll watch somethin’ instead.”

Marshall nodded and left the room.

Rather than trying to find a movie to watch, Louis put some music on the laptop and set it down on the desk before returning to the bed, lying down, and staring at the ceiling.

He had hated his father. But now he was dead. When Louis was in Cork, his father had tried reconciling. It didn’t go well, and Louis felt contempt for the man, but he _had_ tried. Hadn’t he? Louis wasn’t sure whether to feel guilty or sad or nothing. He picked up his phone and called Lyla, but there was no answer. It wasn’t late enough for her to be asleep yet. Maybe she was busy with Ben. He had recently started crawling and was getting into everything possible. They had baby-proofed the outlets and table corners to minimize injury but if they looked away for a second, he would vanish, his babbles the only clue as to where he had gone. Louis couldn’t imagine the chaos that would ensue once he started to walk.

Louis thought about Lyla and Ben and August. He had seen them all that morning before work, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. All he wanted was Lyla next to him, so he could talk to her and hear her voice or see her emerald eyes. As he thought about his family, he drifted to sleep.

The next day, The Connelly Brothers motored to Wilmington in Delaware. The entire state gave off a small-town vibe and they wondered how big the crowd could actually be. They did some limited sight-seeing before heading back to their hotel to get ready for their second show of the weekend.

When the room phone rang, Marshall answered it. He spoke a moment with whomever it was, excused himself, and returned a short time after. “There’s something wrong wit’ the plumbin’. They need us to move rooms,” Marshall said, handing a key card to Louis. “Take your stuff and head to room 505 upstairs. I’ll get my stuff together and meet you there.”

Louis began questioning Marshall who just waved him off and disappeared into the bathroom. With a sigh, Louis placed what little he had taken out back in the suitcase and made his way to the elevator. The hotel they were staying in this time was a lot nicer. With a city that probably didn’t get too many tourists, the hotels were a little less worn than more popular areas.

On the fifth floor, the elevator doors dinged open. The sign on the wall pointed Louis to the left where he found room 505. He slid the key card in above the handle, listened for the beep, and pushed the door inwards.

When he stepped inside, someone was already standing there and it took Louis a moment to register that it was his wife, smiling. “Surprise,” she said softly.

Louis grinned and took two large steps towards her before they were eagerly embracing each other. “What are you doin’ here?” asked Louis after they broke apart.

“Marshall called,” Lyla explained. “He told me about your dad and said I should come up here. Maya agreed to watch the boys.”

“What does August think about that?” Their son had started to become slightly more argumentative as of late, claiming that at fourteen years old, he should be able to stay on his own more often. While his parents didn’t doubt his ability to care for himself, they did have some reservations about his ability to keep himself out of harm’s way.

“He wasn’t too happy, but he gets Marshall’s room, so who knows what he’ll find in there to make up for it.”

Louis laughed. “I’m glad you came. I need to get ready for the show though. You’re comin’?”

“Of course,” Lyla said.

As expected, The Connelly Brothers’ set went well. The crowd was larger than they had thought it would be, and Louis figured this was due to out-of-towners there to see and support Cornerstone. Following their set, The Connelly Brothers sans Louis went to join the crowd as usual while Lyla and the lead singer went back to their room.

“What are you thinking about your dad?” Lyla asked after Louis had finished his shower and dressed.

Louis sighed and laid down on the bed, Lyla automatically curling up next to him. He was so thankful to have her with him and to feel the comforting weight of her body next to his. “I’m thinkin’ that I shouldn’t’ve been such an ass to him and should’ve been the mature one to listen to the man. But then I think: he doesn’t deserve my guilt or empathy and that I shouldn’t waste another thought on him. And then I think of our half-siblings and think about how they’re mournin’ and feel bad again. I don’t know how to feel or what to think.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, pushing his hair back with her fingers and playing with the short strands. She didn’t offer advice or sympathy, only the offer to let her husband say what he needed to say without interruption or judgement.

They lay in silence until Louis wanted to say more. “Y’know, when me and Marshall were little, Da was good. Before Mam died. They were both younger than we are now. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we’d go do somethin’ as a family every weekend until Mam got sick. Spent lots of time together. Like Da worked with some man who’d a speedboat. Mam refused to get on ‘cause I think she was afraid of water, which is strange thinkin’ about where we lived. But Da took us out on the river outside our home one Saturday and sped us up and around. Mam watched horrified from the shore. I remember every time I’d look over at her, she’d be chewin’ her lip with her arms crossed. Then on one turn, we dipped too far t’ the side and Marshall went over. My mam screamed, but Da acted quick – turned off the boat and dove in as Mam shouted for me to get back from the edge. Within seconds, he and Marshall were back in the boat laughin’ wildly as Mam shouted for Da to bring us back. He ignored her and we spent another coupla hours speedin’ around. When we got back, Mam didn’t say a word to any of us and locked herself in her room. Da got into a shouting match with her and ended up in the livin’ room for the night. But he ended up building a fort with us and we stayed up as late as we could watchin’ movies. I think I was the first to fall asleep. I was only six, seven. In the mornin’, we woke up to Mam makin’ us breakfast. He was like that before Mam died.

“After she died, he drank more and his heart wasn’t in it. But there were happy memories. He made stupid decisions, but can I really resent a dead man?”

Lyla thought a moment. “I don’t think you have to completely hate him or forgive him. You can remember the good memories and resent the bad ones, and still mourn him.”

“I think Marshall’s goin’ t’ take it hard, though he’d never say. He always had a closer relationship with him, bein’ a bit older. I think he wanted to reunite with him at some point. I fucked that one up.”

Lyla shook her head against his chest, “no. You didn’t do anything. If Marshall wanted to contact him, he knew that he was in Cork and could’ve done so. He might’ve been just as upset as you.”

Louis shrugged but didn’t say anything. Marshall was always easy-going and used humour to deflect any serious issues, so it was hard to tell what he was actually thinking. But Louis thought he knew is brother well-enough to know when he was actually upset. They hadn’t spoken much since they found out about their father’s death and, to Louis, Marshall didn’t seem at his regular level of joviality.

Lyla travelled with the band down to Baltimore on the Sunday and spent the day with them, taking in the sights. She wouldn’t be able to stay for the show, wanting to get back to New York so that August could get settled for school the next morning. So as Louis got ready for his final set of the weekend, Lyla made her way back home.

Although Louis would be back in New York later that night, it felt like he would still be gone for ages. He liked that she had surprised him though. Her presence and allowing him to talk through his thoughts on the death of his father helped him feel more at ease, which translated to an excellent set for The Connelly Brothers.

As they left the stage for the night, they were met by Dave, the drummer from Cornerstone. “Awesome set guys,” he said, patting Nick’s shoulder as he passed.

“Thanks,” Marshall said, sweat dripping from his temple as he gulped back water.

“My sister’s the one who recommended you. Knows you, Louis,” he nodded at Louis, “but wants to meet the rest if you’re not rushing off.”

“Got a few minutes,” said Marshall.

They followed Dave to where the rest of Cornerstone was hanging out. There were others in the room that weren’t in the band – friends, family, and randoms. Louis identified Dave’s sister right away from her red hair; they had met back in August when he had invaded her campsite. As soon as she spotted Louis, she walked purposefully over to him and drew him into an unexpected hug.

“Hi!” she exclaimed, clearly under the influence of something.

“Hey,” Louis replied. “You’re the one recommended us?”

She nodded, “yeah. Dave was trying to figure out another opener and I immediately thought of the Irish band from Summer Fest!”

“Thanks, it’s been real great.” Louis motioned to the rest of The Connelly Brothers. “This is my brother, Marshall; Steve, Brian, Nick,” he pointed out each member who acknowledged her in their own way. “This is Sophie. Hers was the campsite I woke up in that night.” The band mates laughed in recognition of Louis’ misstep.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, though didn’t seem too interested. She focused her attention back on Louis, her hand on his arm. “Do you all have time for dinner? Some friends and I are going down the street to get some food and drink if you’re interested.” She stared up at Louis with icy blue unfocused eyes that unsettled him.

“We’ve gotta catch our flight home, darlin’,” Marshall said, meeting Louis’ eye for a brief second, saying a lot without needing to speak. “Maybe next time. But it was nice meetin’ ya.”

Louis awkwardly drew his arm away from the overly-affectionate red head and said his goodbyes, much to Sophie’s disappointment. Marshall patted Louis’ shoulder in understanding, and the band left to their hotel rooms to get their stuff for home. 

* * *

 

Louis was working late on Wednesday night following his band’s final performance weekend of February when the phone rang. Lyla, in the midst of dealing with an unexplained tantrum on Ben’s part, called for August to answer, but he was working on a composition for class and must not have heard her. With a squirming, screaming Ben on her hip, Lyla answered the phone.

“Hello?” she greeted, breathless.

“Hi, is this a bad time?” Maya’s voice came.

She ignored the question. Clearly it was a bad time. “What do you need?”

“Marshall’s been acting strange and I’m worried. I was hoping Louis was there and would know what to do.”

“Strange, how?” asked Lyla, setting Ben in his playpen to tantrum away from their conversation.

“Hasn’t been home sleeping much at all. Maybe an hour or two per night. When he got back last week Sunday, he went out to the bar almost immediately, got home around two and then was off to work at four. It’s been the same for the past couple of weeks, not even coming home for dinner. Did something happen?”

“Their dad died,” Lyla replied, knowing Louis was right about Marshall hurting more. He was evidently trying to follow in his father’s footsteps.

“Oh. He didn’t tell me.” Maya sounded hurt that Marshall wouldn’t tell her. They told each other everything.

“Is he out now? Louis will be getting off work soon. He could go find him if you know where he is.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t come home yet. I don’t know where he’d be. I called The Queen’s Head and he’s not there. Not answering his phone.”

“I’m going to call Louis. He’ll track him down.”

“Okay, thanks Lyla,” she said before hanging up without another word. Lyla checked on the fussy Ben, who was red-faced and screaming, before dialling Louis’ work.

“Benitz and Lem, Louis Connelly speaking,” he answered formally.

“Hello, love, it’s just me,” she replied.

“Ah, thank God. I was just ‘bout to head out th’ door. Didn’t want t’ get caught on the phone. What d’you need?”

“Maya called. Marshall seems to be on some sort of bender. He’s been out after work drinking every night and not getting much sleep. She’s worried about him. Do you think you’d be able to track him down?”

She heard him sigh into the phone, “yeah, I’ll find him. Everything okay over there?”

“Yeah, Ben’s just being a pain. I’m going to get him down soon. Let me know when you find him.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Louis hung up his work phone and ran his fingers through his hair. His brother could be any number of places. As his computer shut down, he pulled out his cell and figured he’d try texting his brother.

“Hey, just getting off work. Grab a drink?” he wrote, hoping to lure his brother out. As he began walking out of work, his phone buzzed with a response.

“Harlem tqila . D4ablas7 teqila”

Louis furrowed his brow trying to figure out what his brother had written. Marshall was in Harlem and seemed to be drinking tequila. Louis got on a train heading towards Harlem. What did ‘D4ablas7’ translate to?

“D4ablas7?” Louis texted back, unable to figure it out.

“Diablas” came the response.

Diabla’s Tequila. Louis had never heard of this place before, so he got off at the first stop in Harlem and asked workers and passersby if they knew of this place. Several people later, he was given directions, hopped back on the train, and made his way down to where he was guided.

The building looked dilapidated but was busy, filled with increasingly drunk people – a surprising amount for a Wednesday. Louis had to gently push people out of the way to get in. In their states, they didn’t seem to care all that much. Once inside, Louis scanned the room, searching for his drunk brother.

“Louie!” a booming shout came from behind Louis. He spun around to see Marshall with a bunch of other drunk people sitting in a corner booth, many shot glasses littering the table.

Louis pulled out his phone and texted, “found him,” to Lyla before pocketing it again and going to meet his brother.

“Everyone,” Marshall slurred, “this is my baby bro, Louie. He never comes out. We need to get ‘im some tequila!” The others cheered in agreement.

Louis shook his head, “Marshall, you’ve got to go home.”

A chorus of boos lead by his brother were shouted at Louis.

“The night is young, baby bro. Have a couple o’ shots.”

Again, Louis shook his head, “let’s go, Marshall.” He was determined to get him out of there without having to drink anything himself.

They went back and forth a couple of times before Marshall finally relented with a loud irritated groan. “How’d y’ get to be so boring wit’ someone like me for a brother?” He slid out of the booth and said goodbye to his new ‘friends’ before stumbling like a toddler after Louis.

“Lou,” he shouted when they were outside, “what are you doin’ here?”

“I’m bringin’ you home,” he replied calmly, taking his brother by the shoulder. “You shouldn’t be out drinkin’ so much.”

Marshall hit his hand away, “I’m a grown man, I can do what I like.”

“If you’re a grown man,” Louis said, voice raised, “then act like one. Just because Da is dead, doesn’t mean you start doin’ what he did.”

Marshall didn’t respond but his face became stoic as he followed his brother, zig-zagging over the sidewalk. On the train, Marshall leaned his head back against the window, falling asleep almost instantly. Nearly an hour later, he was being woken up and dragged to his feet by his brother who sat him on a nearby bench once off of the train.

“How much did you drink, Marshall?”

Marshall simply shrugged, eyes still closed and head spinning. Everything he heard sounded way off in the distance. He was tired and wanted to sleep. He felt Louis sit down next to him.

“I know you were closer with Da,” Louis said, his voice a muffled version of itself. “I know you wanted to see him again and bury the hatchet, so I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance.”

Marshall shook his head, “no.”

“No, what?”

“Not Da.”

Louis was confused, “then why are you out every night drinkin’, stayin’ away from home?”

Marshall shook his head again. “Home.”

Louis sighed and drew his brother up, arm wrapped around his middle with Marshall’s arm draped over Louis’ shoulders. They walked fifteen minutes to Marshall’s house, the cold seeming to put a little more pep in Marshall’s step. At Marshall’s door, Louis reached into his brother’s jacket pocket for the key. He unlocked the first door and Marshall climbed laboriously up the stairs, knocking on his unit door.

The door swung open to reveal a distressed Maya. “Marshall!” she exclaimed, taking him by the wrists and pulling him to the sofa. “What the hell?”

Marshall groaned and shrugged.

“Where was he?” she asked Louis, taking Marshall’s jacket and shoes off.

“Some tequila bar down in Harlem.”

She hung his jacket up by the door and put his shoes beneath them before motioning for Louis to follow her to the kitchen as Marshall fell into sleep again. “He’s been like this since last Sunday night,” she said when they were away from Marshall. “He came home, dropped his stuff off and then said he was going to the pub. Then he’s been doing the same thing each day since, not even coming home after work until about two, then working hungover and sleep-deprived. Lyla said your dad died. I’m sorry. Is that why he’s like this?”

Louis shrugged, “I thought so. But when I said it t’ him, he said that’s not why. Wouldn’t tell me though. I’m goin’ to go home. See if you can get it out of him tomorrow.” Maya nodded as Louis went to say goodbye to his brother. “Marshall.”

“Hm?”

“Wake up and listen t’ me.”

Marshall’s eyes opened to a squint, “what.”

“Tomorrow after work, you’re comin’ straight home. No more drinkin’ this week, yeah?”

Marshall groaned.

“Marshall,” Louis repeated, hands on both sides of his face. “You’re not goin’ to be like da. No more drinkin’ this week.”

Marshall grunted, “fine. Go home, baby bro.”

Louis patted Marshall on the shoulder before saying goodbye to Maya and heading back home.


	28. February - June 2010

_Late February 2010_

As Louis finished his run through Central Park on Sunday morning, his phone buzzed. It was Marshall, which was strange considering the hour. Louis ran earlier on the weekdays and there were plenty of people milling about by ten o’clock, but it was early for Marshall to be contacting anyone.

“Can the clan come over this pm?” the message read.

Louis walked back to his apartment before answering, unsure if Lyla had any plans for the day. Inside, he was met by the sweet Sunday scent of a pancake breakfast and his stomach growled greedily. He’d shower and then join the family.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” Lyla chirped as the freshly showered Louis kissed her cheek.

“Smells great,” he said eagerly. “Where’s August?”

Lyla rolled her eyes, “apparently he’s getting into a new ‘sleeping in’ phase and doesn’t want to get up for breakfast.”

“Yeah, sleeping in. I’m sure that’s what he’s doin’,” Louis joked.

Lyla shook her head as if to get rid of the suggestion, “nope.”

Louis laughed.

Lyla sat down at the table after giving Ben his small serving of mushy pancakes, and the couple served themselves.

“Do we have any plans today?” Louis asked after a couple of bites to satisfy his hunger.

“I was thinking we could bring Ben to the park for a bit. And there’s a couple of open houses we could go to,” Lyla replied after a sip of orange juice.

“Marshall’s askin’ if we’re free to go over there today. What time are the open houses?”

“I think most end at about four. We could go down to Scarsdale and check out a few, then go to Marshall’s. Or the other way around. Do you know why?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t message him back yet. I’ll ask after we’re done.”

Once Lyla, Louis and Ben finished their breakfast, Louis cleaned up the kitchen as usual while Lyla cleaned and dressed Ben. August was still locked in his room, more of a teenager with each passing day. Louis texted Marshall to ask for times and purpose when he was finished.

“Right,” Louis said to Lyla after receiving a response. “He says that the time doesn’t matter and it won’t take long. Says, ‘I have to tell you somethin’’ and Maya won’t let him do it over the phone.” Louis felt uneasy. It must be something important. “What time do the open houses start?”

“I think most are at one.”

“Alright, well why don’t we go to Marshall’s first, then we can do the open houses later?”

“Do you think everything’s okay?” Lyla asked, sensing Louis’ own unease.

Louis shook his head, “no.” He texted Marshall back to say they’d be leaving right away. “August!” he called, approaching his son’s bedroom. Louis knocked on the door, “August, we’re goin’ to Uncle Marshall’s then checkin’ out some houses. Time t’ get up!”

He could hear August groan on the other side of the door, “do I have to come?”

“Yeah, man. Uncle Marshall has somethin’ important to tell us. Let’s go. We’re leavin’ fifteen minutes.” He didn’t wait to hear whether or not his son protested, but after he walked away, he heard August’s door open. The teenager crept into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Fifteen minutes later, the family was on their way to Marshall’s in relative silence. Louis was thinking of all the different possible reasons for the meeting while Lyla circled her thumb on his hand mindlessly, offering some comfort.

When they made it to Marshall’s place, he met them at the door to let them in. “Hey,” he said, stepping aside so they could each go in. “I wanted to just call, but Maya made a fuss and I have to live wit’ her so…”

“Everything alright?” Louis asked, the last to enter his brother’s home.

Marshall shrugged, “it’s fine.”

“Where’s Maya?” Lyla asked, hanging her and August’s coats on the hooks near the door before removing Ben’s winter wear.

“She’s upstairs,” he replied with no further explanation.

Marshall motioned for everyone to sit on the sofa, which they did. It all felt very awkward and unnatural, the lack of explanations and the uncharacteristic actions of Marshall. He sat in the armchair perpendicular to the sofa, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Right,” he said, followed by a long pause where he studied his anxious hands.

“Marshall,” Louis urged.

Marshall caught Louis’ eye for a moment before returning his gaze to his hands. “Well, it turns out… I’ve got cancer.”

“Cancer,” Louis repeated, his heart dropping. Unconsciously, he took Lyla’s hand in his and held tight.

Marshall nodded, “prostate. Just like da had. I’d been feelin’ off for a coupla weeks before da died. Then the Monday after, I went to a clinic t’ get checked out. They sent me to an oncologist the Friday before North Carolina. They’re gonna get me on some treatments to shrink the, uh, tumour and said it probably won’t go ‘way completely so I’ll need surgery but…” he shrugged.

“And you fuckin’ went binge-drinkin’ because of this? Tryin’ to follow da’s footsteps completely?” Louis near-shouted. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Watch yourself, baby bro,” Marshall warned. “Just ‘cause I have cancer, doesn’t mean I can’t still kick your ass.”

“Louis,” Lyla soothed, squeezing his hand tightly.

Both Marshall and Louis seemed to realize the others were around before escalating the argument.

“It was stupid,” Marshall relented. “I don’t know how to—” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. “I’ll be alright, yeah? We’ll finish this tour, I’ll get the treatments and surgery and shit finished, and be good for the summer festivals.”

“You can’t get in earlier?” asked Lyla.

“I need to finish the tour,” he said quietly.

“Marshall, if you can get in earlier, do it. Couldn’t it spread?”

“I need to finish the tour,” Marshall repeated. He could feel his own mortality crushing in on him and was worried that things wouldn’t go as well as the doctors suggested they would.

“Can’t you get treatment at the same time?” August asked, startling Marshall out of his consuming thoughts. For the first time, Marshall took in the expressions of those around him. August looked on the verge of tears, Louis was tense with fear, and Lyla had her face hidden behind Ben’s dark hair as she held him tight, her other hand grasping Louis’.

“Right, you all need to stop that,” he demanded. “I’m goin’ to be fine. It hasn’t spread beyond the tissues surroundin’ the prostate. I’ll do the radiation and the surgery, if needed, after our last New York show. This is my choice and the doctors who have actual medical knowledge have not said anythin’ against it. So it’ll be fine. But you can’t all be mopin’ the whole damn time. Christ.”

“Sorry,” August murmured.

Marshall shook his head, “don’t worry, man. I’ll be okay.”

August nodded and no one said anything to the frustration of Marshall.

He threw his hands up in the air and stood. “You figure out how to act normal – share the secret with Maya while you’re at it – and I’ll be in my room when you’re ready,” and he walked into his room, closing the door behind him. The sound of the television on the other side of the door filled in the uncomfortable silence that had been created.

“Shit,” Louis whispered.

“That’s enough,” Lyla demanded.

Louis began to say something but thought better of it and sighed. The four of them sat silently, mulling over the news.

A moment later, Maya and Mateo descended the stairs and joined the family in the living room. “Hi,” she tried.

“Hi,” Lyla repeated, unsure of what else to say.

“He only told me yesterday,” she said, sitting down in the now empty arm chair. Mateo and Ben saw each other and immediately began babbling to each other. “And only because he was forced to. I don’t think he would’ve told any of us if he could help it.”

Louis nodded. “Idiot.”

“He’ll be okay though,” she assured them. “It’s barely noticeable and the doctors think they can get it all. It’s not bothering him too much.” 

* * *

 

_May 2010_

After the tour finished near the end of March, Marshall began his radiation treatments. Because of Marshall’s relatively young age, the doctors didn’t see any reason to worry, which allowed Marshall some peace of mind and, in turn, calmed his concerned family.

Radiation had dissolved the cancer in the tissues around the prostate, but not in the prostate itself, so surgery was to be done in June to completely remove the tumour.

It was good that Marshall had waited until after the tour, Louis thought, because he had very little energy once the treatments started, not to mention the lack of control of his bladder and other bodily functions. He was moody and more brash than usual and upset with having to take sick leave from work. He couldn’t spend as much time with his son because of the radiation. Maya was constantly annoyed with him and no longer tiptoed around his feelings.

It was a disaster as Maya, Mateo, and Marshall arrived at Louis and Lyla’s home for Benjamin’s first birthday party. The apartment was filled by friends and family of Louis and Lyla to celebrate, but as soon as Marshall entered, the mood changed. He didn’t say hi to anyone; he immediately went for the couch and sat down, turning the TV on to some sports match. His irritability was understandable; not only was he uncomfortable and tired, but people also seemed to tiptoe around him, not sure how to act or what to say. They tried to act normal, but there was some invisible barrier that showed they really weren’t relaxed around him. And he picked up on it.

Maya rolled her eyes at Lyla as she greeted them at the door, helping with Mateo, the gift, and the food they brought, abandoned by Marshall. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I should’ve just left him at home.”

Lyla glanced at her brother-in-law as he turned the volume up on the match to combat the chatter of her guests and the music that played in the background. She took the gift and plate of food towards the kitchen as Maya set Mateo down to go see Ben.

“Get him to turn it down,” Lyla said to Louis who was setting out more food brought by others.

“Ah, he just needs t’ calm down,” Louis said, having become softer towards his brother as of late. “He’ll turn it off when he’s ready.”

“Louis,” she said in disbelief. “You can’t treat him like a child. He’s only like this because everyone is treating him so differently.”

“Just give him some time,” Louis insisted. “Marshall!” he called. “Want anythin’ t’ eat?”

Marshall simply waved his hand in response.

Lyla sighed, “this is ridiculous.”

Louis shrugged and kissed Lyla on the forehead. “He’ll be better after the surgery.”

Marshall kept the game on and loud, yelling at anyone who would get in the way, and yelling at the game itself. It was the cascade of curses that finally pushed Lyla to the limit. She marched from the kitchen table where she was sitting with the ladies and tore the remote control from Marshall’s grasp, turning the TV off.

“Hey! I was watchin’ that!”

“And now you’re done.” She hadn’t meant to make a scene, but it was suddenly very silent save for the background music as people watched the argument unfold. “You know,” she said, feeling her agitation rising, “just because you have cancer, doesn’t give you a free pass to act like a total douchebag.”

“Fuck off,” he said, making a grab for the remote.

“Marshall!” Louis exclaimed.

“No,” Lyla exclaimed. “You’ve been a complete jerk to everyone for the last two months. I get that you’re uncomfortable and worried and sick, but now you’re ruining a perfectly good day. You’re lucky that Ben won’t remember any of this. I mean, the rest of the people who love and care for you will, but what does that matter, right?” She could feel her face burning in anger and embarrassment from the onlookers but continued. “You’re acting like a crotchety old man and it doesn’t suit you. Grow up and stop bringing everyone else down. Grow up if you want anyone around you when you’re healthy again.” She took the remote with her as she stormed off dramatically to her bedroom.

The rest of the party looked awkwardly among each other as Marshall sat back on the sofa somewhat stunned. He then stood and walked purposefully towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“God, I love Lyla,” Maya said after a moment, grinning widely and easing the tension for pockets of conversation to resume.

Lyla sat on the edge of her bed, unsure about what to do. Surely, one couldn’t go back to a place they just dramatically exited from? She was embarrassed anyway and kept thinking about all the ways she could have handled the situation much more subtly. But then, would Marshall ever listen to subtle?

“Y’alright?” Louis’ voice came, startling her. “Sorry, didn’t mean t’ scare you.”

She shook her head, “yeah, I’m fine. Just embarrassed.”

Louis chuckled, “I think Marshall’s more embarrassed than you. But he deserved it. Should’ve stepped in when you told me to.” He paused. “It’s hard.”

“It’s harder for him with everyone acting like he’s going to break if they treat him normally. I’d be annoyed too.”

Louis nodded, “I’m goin’ t-“ He was interrupted by a knock on the door followed by the appearance of Marshall.

“Lyla,” he said. “Just want t’ say sorry. I’m gonna be headin’ home. I don’t think I should’ve come out in the first place.”

“No, don’t leave,” Lyla insisted. “We’ll be opening presents soon. And there’s cake.”

“Nah, I don’t really have an appetite. Not feelin’ good today. Can’t wait for this shit to be done. I’ll talk t’ you later, yeah?”

Louis nodded, “see you, Marshall.”

Marshall snuck out, texting Maya goodbye rather than facing the friends and strangers in his brother’s living room. 

* * *

 

_June_

“The asshole fucking lied,” Maya cried into the phone after Louis had answered. He had to hold the phone away from his ear and worried his coworkers might hear.

“Maya?”

“Yes! I tried calling Lyla, but there was no answer!”

“She’s meetin’ with someone about a job. What’s goin’ on?”

“Marshall went in for his surgery today!”

“What? I thought it wasn’t until next week?”

“He messaged me just before he went in, saying that he lied and it was actually today and that he didn’t want a fuss. And I’m trying to get some information but the fucking—” She took a deep breath and continued, “they won’t give me any information because I’m not family. Apparently having his son means nothing.” Her voice cracked with emotion.

“Listen, I can probably get out early today. I’ll come down t’ the hospital and see what we can figure out.”

“Okay,” she sniffed. “Thanks” and she hung up without another word.

Louis finished up his work and ducked out early, texting Lyla the situation. She was meeting with the Dean of Music at Juilliard, discussing a possible role for September as an instructor on top of her cellist position with the Philharmonic, which she had started with again in January. Lyla was starting to get antsy staying with Ben 24/7.

He found Maya sitting with Mateo in the waiting area of the hospital, hugging him tightly and bouncing him on her knee. When she saw Louis, she shot up and followed him to the desk.

“Excuse me,” he said to the lady at the computer who looked up at him. “I’m lookin’ for information about my brother.”

“His name?”

“Marshall Connelly. He had surgery today.”

“Your name?”

“Louis,” he said and then added, “Connelly.”

The orderly searched for a moment before speaking, “yes, he got out of surgery about half an hour ago. He’s in recovery.”

“Can we see him? Did everythin’ go okay?”

“Just a moment, I’ll check if he can be seen.” She made a phone call and spoke in a low voice into the receiver.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Maya asked, her brows furrowed with worry.

Louis clutched her shoulder comfortingly, “yeah, he’s fine.” His brother was strong, and Louis couldn’t imagine a life without him, so Marshall would have to be okay.

“He’s in room 402,” the woman said. “You can go up there but be sure to keep quiet.”

Maya sighed audibly with relief and went with Louis up to the fourth floor.

The room had two beds in it. On the far side of the room, the bed was empty but looked like someone normally occupied it. Closer to the door, Marshall lay with squinted eyes as a couple of nurses worked over him. When he spotted Louis, Mateo, and Maya, they opened wider and he emitted a loud but lazy “hey!” He waved at one of the nurses and slurred, “it’s my baby brother and my baby mama an’ my baby!”

The nurse laughed and greeted the trio, “he just woke up and will be a little out of it for a bit yet.”

“How’d it go?” Louis asked as the approached the bed.

“He told us his surgery wasn’t until next week,” accused Maya.

“Isn’t she so fuckin’ hot?” slurred Marshall, eyeing Maya.

“It was today,” the nurse confirmed, smiling at Marshall’s comment. “The doctor will be in once Marshall’s a bit more coherent and he’ll be able to fill you in on the details.”

“You’re an asshole,” Maya said to Marshall as she stood next to his hospital bed.

He reached up to his son. “That’s why y’love me. Heya Matty boy.”

“Dadadadadadada,” Mateo babbled, clapping off-beat.

“Give ‘im here,” Marshall demanded.

“Not a good idea,” the nurse said to which Marshall cursed loudly.

“Marshall, why don’t you shut your mouth a bit?” Louis said, receiving an obnoxious laugh from his brother.

The nurse patted Marshall’s foot, “I’ll be back in a little while. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

For the next hour, they visited with Marshall. He became more coherent and less drunk-like as the anesthesia wore off. The doctor came in and greeted everybody in the room before completing some basic cognition tests. When he was satisfied that Marshall was in a clear state of mind, he began to speak. “We managed to get a clearer look at the tissue surrounding the prostate and we can confirm for a certainty that the radiation therapy managed to completely rid the tissue of cancer cells. As for the surgery, there weren’t any surprises. It was the size we thought and was easy to remove. There is always a chance that the cancer will come back, so you’ll have regular check ups to monitor it, but for now, you’re cancer free.”

Tension that had been unknowingly floating in the room dissipated instantly. Silent tears spilled down Maya’s cheeks as she held on tightly to Marshall’s hand. Louis wanted to follow suit but knew that Marshall would never let him live it down. He felt immense relief and gratitude.

“Recovery will take some time, but you’re young and healthy, so there shouldn’t be many complications. We’ll keep you for a couple of nights for observation and then you’ll be able to go home. You still won’t be fit for work for another few weeks at the very least. But you can breathe now.”


	29. July 2010

_July 2010_

On Lyla and Louis’ two-year wedding anniversary, they decided to splurge on a fancy hotel for the weekend despite their upcoming trip to San Francisco. Their first anniversary hadn’t been celebrated as much as they would have liked because of the birth of their son the month before, so they decided that they’d go all out for their second anniversary instead.

On Friday evening, they dropped Ben off with Maya, Mateo, and a recovering Marshall, letting August finally stay home alone (with checkups from his uncle), and went to check in to their hotel, which wasn’t all that far from home.  The room, situated on the twentieth floor, provided a view overlooking Manhattan, which would sparkle in the night.

As soon as the suite door closed behind the couple, Louis had Lyla in his embrace, kissing her neck and running his hands over her body.

Lyla giggled, “stop.”

“Can’t,” he murmured.

She took his face in both her hands and steadied him; she brought her lips to his slowly and sweetly. “We have the whole weekend,” she whispered, “and nothing but time.”

He kissed her quickly, a peck, and said, “you do that and then think I’m able to keep my hands off you?”

“At least until after our reservation,” she smiled, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing it. “Let’s get ready, go to dinner, and we’ll be back here and naked before you know it.”

Louis laughed, “I think I can do that.”

Dressed to the nines, the couple left their hotel room at seven o’clock for their reservation at an upscale restaurant nearby. Lyla wore a dark plum lace dress with no back that fit to the contours of her body and drove Louis crazy. He thought that she must’ve got some tips from Maya; he had never seen Lyla in anything so revealing – at least, not in public. Yet, she walked confidently and effortlessly in her sparkling silver heels.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered into her ear as they entered the high-end restaurant.

She grinned and kissed his cheek, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Hey,” Louis said to the hostess. “Table for Louis Connelly.”

The hostess took a moment to find the reservation then said, “certainly, Mr. Connelly. This way.”

She led them to a small table near the back of the crowded restaurant. Soft jazz music and ambient lighting created a laidback atmosphere despite the hundreds of dollars undoubtedly being spent by the crowd of couples scattered throughout.

Lyla ordered the two of them a dry white wine for the table before they began perusing the menus.

“I’m starvin’,” Louis said, scanning the very pricey menu for something satisfying. “Haven’t had anythin’ since noon.”

“Be careful what you order then,” Lyla replied. “This seems like the type of place where the portions are meant for people who don’t eat.”

Louis snickered, “we’ll stop by a hotdog stand afterwards.”

“Oh, good,” she smirked.

Louis ended up ordering steak, hoping there would be some substance there, along with a side of grilled vegetables while Lyla ordered a pasta dish. Both started with a thick, creamy soup that was both expensive and delicious. When they were finished their main course, they sat back and drank more of their wine and talked, waiting to order dessert to share.

“…and she said that I would have classes in the mornings, three times a week instead,” Lyla said.

“Would you only be part-time then?”

“No, still a full-time salary, but I could set my office hours on the mornings I don’t have classes, and then in the afternoons, I’d just need to be easily reachable but could be home with Ben or do whatever else. That reminds me: when we get home from San Francisco, we need to look into a nanny.”

“Should just hire Maya. She’s not doin’ anythin’.”

“Don’t be rude. She’s going back to school.”

“Really? For what?"

“She’s working on getting her GED right now and then she’ll go part time to the community college near them—actually, we should see if we could get a nanny for both Mateo and Ben, then she wouldn’t have to worry.”

Louis shrugged, “whatever works best.”

The waiter came to take their plates and dessert order and provide another bottle of wine.

“I was thinking,” Lyla said after a sip of her new glass of wine. “After San Francisco, I might go off birth control?”

“Yeah?” Louis said, thrilled at the prospect of another little Connelly.

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t start trying for a few months yet, so we’d have to be careful. I just don’t want a repeat.” She had decided that the cause of her miscarriage nearly two years prior was due to getting pregnant before the birth control was entirely out of her system, which caused deformities that her body rejected. Whether it was true or not, it helped her make sense of the situation and feel like she could actively take control to avoid it happening again.

Louis nodded, understanding fully. “That’s okay. I’m excited.”

Lyla smiled, “me too.”

Soon, the waiter brought out the dessert they had ordered – a simple apple-caramel crumble a la mode. But as they were about to dig in, Louis stopped mid-bite. “Shit.”

Lyla glanced at her own forkful, confused. “What is it?”

“Y’remember that girl I was tellin’ you about from that festival?”

“The one with the serial killer eyes?”

Louis nodded, “she’s over there and comin’ this way.”

Lyla glanced behind her to see a stunning red-head with an icy blue gaze walking purposefully to their table. Her sparkling sleeveless tent dress was loud and drew all eyes to her; her abnormally high black cutout heels, smoky eye, and high-fashion upswept hair gave the impression of her being otherworldly. Knowing that this gorgeous woman was clearly interested in her husband based on what he had told her, Lyla felt a little niggling sense of jealousy.

“Louis,” she said in a voice that Lyla thought sounded like dripping honey. “How are you?” she asked, her hand resting on his shoulder despite towering over him.

“Hi Sophie,” Louis said, trying his best to be cordial. “Lyla, this is Sophie,” he said, knowing full well she knew exactly who this girl was. “She’s Dave from Cornerstone’s sister. Sophie, this is my wife, Lyla.”

Lyla thought she heard a small emphasis on ‘wife’. She smiled and held out her hand, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Sophie simply smiled a forced smile, keeping her hands at her side, and said, “this is Roger,” indicating an older gentleman who neither Louis nor Lyla noticed until he was pointed out. “We were shooting together today for a spread in Vogue and thought we’d get some drinks before heading over to a party to celebrate the opening of some new club. You should come,” she looked directly at Louis.

“Ah, thanks, but we’re celebratin’ our anniversary,” Louis responded politely, though Lyla could see he was clearly annoyed.

Sophie grasped his shoulder, quickly glanced at Lyla, and said, “you know, I don’t think I knew you were married.”

Lyla kept her face stoically pleasant, not normally one to rise to the bait set out by girls like Sophie.

“Yeah,” Louis said, waggling his ring finger. “Married two years now. In love longer. We have two kids.”

Sophie smiled and shrugged, “well, if you change your mind—” she opened her clutch a pulled out a card, “call me and we can meet up.” She glanced at Lyla again, “all of us, of course.” She set the card on the table and left with Roger, her hand tracing from Louis’ one shoulder, behind his neck, and off his other shoulder.

“What an awful person,” Lyla said when Sophie was out of earshot.

“That’s a nice way to put it,” he said, picking up the card, glancing at it, then handing it over to Lyla. “Here.”

“Why do I want this?” She glanced at the card. Lyla groaned, “how tacky.” The card was plain white with Sophie’s information written boldly across the front, but the backside portrayed a nude Sophie seductively eyeing the viewer, a black blanket strategically placed for some semblance of modesty.

In the middle of their table, there was a clear glass with a burning tealight candle. Louis pushed it towards Lyla.

Lyla glanced around her. “I can’t do that,” she whispered.

Louis smirked at her innocence, “c’mon, it’ll make us both feel better.”

She sighed and brought the candle close to her as if to shield the sight from the staff. Slowly, she dipped the card into the flame and watched Sophie’s face slowly dissolve. It did make her feel better.

As the flame crept closer to Lyla’s fingers, Louis reached over, took the card from her and blew it out before ripping the remaining pieces in two. “Don’t be jealous of someone like her,” Louis said. “She’s not worth your time.”

“I know,” Lyla said quietly. “I just… really hate her.”

Louis laughed, “me too.”

“Good.” She leaned over and kissed her husband before they went back to their nearly-forgotten dessert and finished it completely.

At half past eight, the couple paid their bill and headed back to their hotel with a decent wine buzz making them both a little more talkative and handsy. They laughed as Louis pulled Lyla’s hands off of him in the lobby while they waited for the elevator. The doors dinged, revealing smartly dressed individuals just getting out for the night; Louis and Lyla rushed into the newly empty elevator and pressed the ‘close doors’ button repeatedly. Once the doors closed, Louis had Lyla in his arms, hands running along her bare back, her thighs wrapped tightly around his hips.

“Wait,” she said. With Louis holding her, she reached over to the elevator buttons and hit their floor number before again focusing her attention on her husband with his soft blue eyes and dark luscious hair that she swooned over.

When the elevator stopped, dinging again, Louis and Lyla were too busy with one another to notice the older couple waiting to get in. But the gentleman cleared his throat and got their attention. Louis placed Lyla on the ground, snickering at Lyla’s reddening face as she adjusted her dress for some modesty.

“We’re so sorry,” she pleaded, pulling her hem down. “It’s our anniversary. Sorry.”

“Congratulations,” the woman said, smiling as her own husband chuckled. “How long have you been married?”

“Two years,” Lyla said, still horrified. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, honey. Enjoy yourselves.” Louis and Lyla stepped out of the elevator as the old couple stepped in.

“Thank you,” said Lyla.

As the doors began to close, Louis cackled at his wife’s state. “Lyla, my love, you’re beet-red. Embarrassed, are we?”

“Shut up,” she laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him close to her. She pressed her lips against his as they made their way towards their suite.

Louis pulled his wallet from his pocket and found the key card easily, which he held up to the reader until the little green light allowed them to push the door open.

Inside, Lyla kicked her shoes off. “I have a surprise for you,” she said.

“Ah, good. I like your surprises,” he said, untucking his shirt before sitting on the sofa.

“You’re overdressed,” she called from the bedroom. “Get a bit more comfortable.”

Lyla emerged several minutes later, transformed. She opted for red this time. Beneath her red lace kimono was a matching bralette shaped by her soft breasts. Around her hips and connected to thigh-highs, she wore a garter that seemed to be strapped around her body with minimal fabric, doing nothing other than increasing his desire. Her lace panties matched her bralette but offered her chosen lover quick access.

Louis shook his head, grinning, “c’mere.” He watched intently as she untied her kimono and let it drop to the floor before walking slowly over to him.

Lyla leaned over him, her hands resting on his now-bare chest, and kissed him on his lips before tracing her way down his neck with her lips and tongue to his chest. She knelt before him, her hands on his thighs and continued working her way down from his chest to his stomach to his pelvis, pulling down his underwear to find what she was looking for. She gripped him gently, running her tongue over his skin as she stroked rhythmically.

Louis tilted his head back, eyes closed, feeling the texture of Lyla’s tongue on his skin as she took him in her warm mouth. He felt her determined tongue working around him while her delicate fingers fondled him purposefully. A groan escaped from deep inside Louis as his wife worked expertly at the head. He needed more of her.

He tilted his head forward so that he could see Lyla, who was looking up at him mischievously. “Lyla,” he breathed, bringing his hands to either side of her head and urging her up towards him. She understood and worked her way back up towards his neck with her lips and tongue before climbing up on top of her husband, taking him inside her effortlessly. He ran his hands up her thighs and dug his fingers into the supple skin as she locked her fingers behind his neck; they held onto each other with all their strength, working together towards ecstasy. 

* * *

 

“We need a tub like this in our new place,” Lyla murmured lazily.

Opposite her, Louis nodded, “we might have t’ settle for one a little less lavish.”

“Deal-breaker,” she replied.

Louis chuckled, “well, I’ll see what I can do.”

Both Louis and Lyla sat in the hotel’s long, deep tub, the lights dimmed and the water warm and scented with fragrant bubbles. Louis had Lyla’s foot in his hands and was rubbing circles on its ball, arch, and toes, careful to use the right amount of pressure: too much and he’d hurt her, too little and he’d tickle her, most likely resulting in an uncontrolled kick to his face.

She sighed and put her foot back in the water. “I love you,” she told him as she shifted to join him on his end of the tub.

He wrapped his arms around her, locking them into place, “I love you, a chuisle mo chroí.” She leaned her head into the crook of his arm while he began to hum something unknown. They sat that way for a long time until Louis felt his head snap back up. “Lyla,” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

Her silence coupled with her rhythmic breathing gave him his answer.

“Lyla, love,” he said, his voice a little louder but still low. “It’s time for bed.” He kissed her temple and repeated her name.

She groaned and her eyes fluttered open, though just barely.

“Let’s get to bed,” he said, receiving a nod in response.

She sat forward and turned the knob that would drain the tub before standing unsteadily in search of a towel, which Louis had ready for her. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice groggy.

“Not sure. Was dozin’ off myself.” Louis held out his hand for Lyla to hold onto as she climbed out of the tub.

In the bedroom, both Lyla and Louis dried themselves off as completely as they could before climbing into the fresh bed and falling asleep instantly.

Having forgotten to close the curtains, the sun rising up over Manhattan shone in Louis’ eyes in the morning. Lyla was saved from the rude awakening by burying her head against Louis’ chest and beneath the covers. He slid out from the covers to draw the curtains closed but was stopped by the beauty of the view. A sunrise from Central Park was very different from a sunrise twenty floors up. Gold painted the grey buildings brilliantly, the pale sky a stark contrast to the dark shadows being created. Few clouds were in the sky, but those that were shone in a brilliant orange.

“Lyla,” he said, receiving a groan. “Lyla,” he repeated, “come see the sunrise.”

His earnestness drew her stumbling out of bed and to the window. She wrapped her arms around his middle and leaned her head against his chest to view to the scene. “Wow,” she said, in awe of the colour just like he was.

They stood watching the sunrise until the sky shifted from gold to blue, then they slid the curtains shut and returned to bed.

Louis woke several hours later feeling refreshed and ready for an afternoon of time alone with Lyla going to see things unsuitable for an infant or family. He reached for his phone on the side table to check the time, which showed that it was nearly noon. His stomach’s eager request for food only reinforced the time, but they were in a cribless room free from prying eyes and curious ears, and they would make the most of this opportunity.

Lyla was sleeping soundly, her chest rising and falling slowly, the blanket having fallen carelessly to her stomach.

Louis cupped her bare breast gently, circling her nipple with his finger before leaning over her and doing the same with his tongue. Lyla groaned softly, her body stretching out as her beautiful green eyes opened gently. She smiled and rested her hand on Louis’ neck. “Morning,” she said.

He sat up and knelt over her, bringing his lips to hers in response before focusing his attention beneath the covers. Louis spread her legs and worked his tongue deliberately until she began to move with him. She tore the covers off of them so that she could see him work, holding onto his hair like a lifeline. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, keeping them from closing and worked vigorously at pleasuring her.

She began to squirm, feeling her climax building as she took short, shallow, uncontrolled breaths. “Louis,” she moaned helplessly. “Fuck,” she whispered as her body began to convulse. Louis continued on his mission, holding her legs open with a vice grip as she moaned and swore. Then, suddenly, he was on top of her, unable to contain himself much longer. With her legs draped over his shoulders, he thrust into her and she felt a brand new wave of pleasure as he hit all the right spots. She held her thighs close to her stomach as he moved in her but lost her grip as she lost control a second time. Her convulsions and contractions around her husband sent him over the edge soon after until they were both still, sweaty individuals breathing one another in deeply. Louis kissed her chest before rolling over to lie on his back next to her.

“You’re _really_ good at that,” Lyla breathed, still feeling aftershocks.

Louis snickered, “ditto.”

They entwined their fingers together and studied one another until they were both relaxed. Lyla then slid out of bed and Louis smiled after her as she disappeared into the bathroom.

“That river thing booking is in about an hour,” he called after her, checking the time. As part of their anniversary, they had booked a table for two on a river cruise that would sail up and down the Hudson for the afternoon serving high-end meals and non-stop alcohol.

Lyla’s groan echoed against the walls of the bathroom, “okay.”

Louis laughed, “’less you’d rather stay in and order room service instead.”

Her head popped out of the bathroom, an eager expression on her face, “really?”

Louis sat up, laughing, “yeah, don’t mind either way. You’re the one wanted the cruise.”

“I thought it’d be fun – and it would be – but I’d rather stay in bed with you. Until the show anyway.”

“Then it’s done,” he stated. “But I’ll go to the lobby and see if anyone else’ll want to use them.”

Lyla nodded before disappearing into the bathroom again, “that’s a great idea.” Then, “come join me in the shower when you’re back.”

Louis grinned to himself and pulled on his clothes from the night before to try and give away his tickets. The receptionist suggested a couple who were on their honeymoon and having a rough go of it; they were over-the-moon-grateful for the tickets.

Back in the room, he heard the shower running, so he did what Lyla told him and joined her. They spent the rest of the day in bed, save for a spectacular Broadway show. Afterwards, they went out to different hot spots around town and drank too much before falling into each other’s arms for some final moments of marital bliss leading up to check out the next morning.


	30. July 2010 (2)

_California_

Giant redwoods shaded the sun from view, but little pockets of sapphire and cotton could be spotted between the thin leaves. It was hot out in the sun, but the sporadic breeze aided the shade in cooling the Connelleys.

In a week’s time, The Connelly Brothers would be playing at the Sunshine Festival in San Francisco, so Louis and Lyla decided to turn the preceding week into their first family vacation. The four of them – Louis, Lyla, August, and Ben – left New York City by plane on Friday night, borrowed transportation and camping equipment from an old friend of Louis’ in San Francisco, and drove into Eastern California where they would spend the week enjoying nature. It was an ideal means of relaxation that was desperately needed before Louis would be meeting his half-brother and playing a number of weekend sets. The week also coincided nicely with Louis’ thirty-seventh birthday which he wouldn’t like to celebrate in any way other than being with his beautiful family.

Lyla sat in her borrowed camping chair and took in the natural beauty around her. Central Park only offered so much; she hadn’t been out of the city in years and it was nice to be experiencing something for the first time with her family. Despite Louis living in San Francisco for a decade or more, he hadn’t travelled much outside of the city. August, of course, hadn’t been to any state outside of New York and Ben was still experiencing a landslide of firsts as he entered his toddling years.

The family had arrived shortly after noon, set up the tent with only minor disagreements, and were in the process of eating the sandwiches Lyla had made. August was eager to continue his exploration of the campground and ate quickly, barely tasting the food before continuing on his way with an “I’ll be right back.” Louis had Ben on his lap, feeding him bits of his own lunch, while Lyla finished hers and packed up the food back into the cooler then into the van.

Soon, they were ready to go out and explore the immediate area as well. They figured the first night would probably be an early one with what little sleep they had been able to get with their late flight and early morning. Real adventures of swimming and hiking and exploring would happen in subsequent days. Louis managed to track August down on the other end of the campground before strapping Ben to his back and setting of with Lyla and his sons to discover the park a little bit.

Louis and Lyla walked side by side down the path weaving between sequoias while August went quickly up ahead before returning then repeating, seeing twice as much as his parents and brother.

“Look at the size of these trees,” Lyla admired, impressed by how tiny she felt among the giants.

“They’re somethin’,” Louis agreed. “Wish I’d come here earlier.”

“You were meant to see it with me,” Lyla sang, wrapping her arm around her husband’s.

Louis chuckled, “yeah, that must be it.”

They continued following the path as it led to the lake and its stony beach that was spotted with campers who had arrived the night before in most cases.

“I want to get a picture of the three of you,” Lyla suggested, calling August back to stand in front of the lake as she pulled out her camera from her backpack.

“Only if you’re in it,” Louis said. He approached a nearby sunbather who was packing up their belongings. “Would you mind takin’ a picture of us?”

The sunbather, a middle-aged man with his wife, agreed. The Connellys stood with the lake and redwoods as their backdrop, Lyla with Ben in her arms between Louis and August, the latter of which was beginning to surpass her in height.

“Thank you so much,” Lyla gushed to the couple before being drawn, along with Louis, into a conversation about camping and family and the forest as August went further down the path.

With Ben slinged onto Louis’ back once more, the trio continued down the path to find where their eldest son had wandered off to.

Other families and individuals spotted the path, walking faster than them in the same direction or walking towards them; some ran, some biked. It wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty enough to be peaceful. However, they did plan to do some hiking away from the crowds throughout the week so would only have to suffer the inconvenience on that afternoon.

Eventually, they saw August in the distance walking towards them. The fresh air and natural environment really seemed to do him well; he seemed lighter and inspired. As they got closer to each other, their focus was interrupted by someone saying, “Louis.”

Louis and Lyla stopped in their tracks to see who the source was. Lyla didn’t recognize the woman, but Louis did. Her hair had been dyed, her skin was a bit darker from the sun, and her tank top showed the curve of a growing child, but she still had the same eyes and smile.

“Jennifer, hey,” he said, both of them embracing each other quickly with only a little bit of awkwardness. “How’ve you been?”

“Really good,” she said, nodding. “This is Paul,” she motioned to the man next to her. “We got married this past fall. And now we have a little one on the way.”

Louis shook Paul’s hand, “that’s great. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I see you have a little one of your own,” she pointed at the hidden toddler on Louis’ back.

“Yeah, this is Ben. He turned one last month.” He rested his hand on Lyla’s back, “this is my wife, Lyla.”

Lyla shook Jennifer’s hand, smiling, “it’s nice to meet you. Are you camping in the park?”

She nodded, “yeah, just for the weekend. We’re heading back to real life tomorrow.”

“You should stop by our site for dinner and a fire,” Lyla offered, feeling Louis’ hand twitch on her back. “We’re making it a good dinner tonight before surviving off hotdogs for the week. Site 43.”

“Okay, sure. We’ll think about it,” Jennifer nodded.

“Okay, great. We’ll see you later,” Lyla said before she, Louis, and Ben continued on their way to meet up with August.

“Why d’you have to be so hospitable?” Louis asked once out of earshot of his ex.

“What’s wrong? We have extra.”

“She’s my ex.”

“I figured as much.”

“And I wasn’t very good to her.”

“She’s married, you’re married. It’ll be fine. They might not even come.”

But as the potatoes and veg were baking and the steaks were sizzling on the firepit griddle later that evening, Paul and Jennifer arrived with their own chairs, seeming a little bit hesitant.

“We’re so glad you came,” Lyla exclaimed upon seeing their guests. “Take a seat anywhere. What would you like to drink? We have water, juice, or beer.” She provided beer to Paul and water to Jennifer as the two set their chairs up around the fire and sat making small talk while Louis finished cooking the food.

“Mom, do you know where my grey sweater is?” August asked, peeking out from the tent.

“I think I saw it in the car,” Lyla replied, setting Ben on her lap as she mushed up a potato for him. “That’s August,” she told Jennifer and Paul as an aside. “He’s our oldest.”

“Your oldest?” questioned Jennifer. “Both of yours?”

“Oh!” Lyla exclaimed, realizing the connotations. “No! I mean, yes, he’s both of ours but it’s a long story. Louis didn’t know about him or anything.” She glanced at Louis who had a pained look on his face from the ensuing uncomfortable conversation.

“How… old is he?” Clear discomfort was written on Jennifer’s face as well.

“Fourteen,” Louis cut in, setting the steaks on a plate next to the foil-wrapped potatoes and vegetables. “He’ll be fifteen in December. Dinner’s ready.”

The Connellys along with Jennifer and Paul sat around the campsite picnic table eating while Lyla took turns feeding herself and managing Ben’s sloppy eating and telling their guests the story of how they met each other and August. They had told the story so many times that it had become automatic though the wonder and love never seemed to dissipate. Like most, Paul and Jennifer were astounded by the story and all of the events that had to line up for Louis and Lyla to find each other and their son. The tale also helped ease the tension especially in Louis who felt guilty for dragging Jennifer into a relationship that he was only half-invested in at the time.

After Ben was put to bed, the others sat around the campfire talking as the sun set behind the trees. The exes filled each other in on their lives since going their separate ways while the spouses exchanged polite conversation; by the time they decided to head back to their own campsite, August had gone to sleep, Louis and Paul were engaged in a full conversation about bicycles, which Lyla had never pegged Louis to be so knowledgeable about, and Lyla and Jennifer were discussing pregnancy and the latter’s impending motherhood.

“She was nice,” Lyla said as she and Louis cleaned up the site, the fire slowly turning into hot embers.

“Yeah.”

Lyla noted Louis’ miserable tone. “I’m sorry, but it turned out fine.”

“Just wish you’d’ve cleared it with me first.”

“I didn’t have a chance to clear it with you. It would have been strange to stop mid-meeting, pull you to the side, and ask for your history with this woman.” With everything packed back up, Lyla sat next to the dying fire. “Wasn’t it good to clear the air?”

Louis sat in the chair next to her. “I was never honest with her. She didn’t know I was a musician, didn’t know anythin’ about me really. It was painful to sit in front of her and you at the same time, showing my true colour t’the both of you.”

“I know your true colours, Louis,” Lyla replied softly. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me see you any differently and there’s nothing that I could find out about you that would make me think any less of you. I love you.”

Louis leaned over in his chair to kiss his wife, but the chair tipped and he nearly took her out, which resulted in both of them involuntarily cackling.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Lyla suggested after catching her breath, standing up with him and giving him that kiss.

They joined their sons in the tent and fell asleep almost immediately, Lyla in Louis’ arms.

* * *

Lyla sat beneath the umbrella protecting her and Ben from the hot Californian sun above while Louis and August frolicked in the water. Ben played in the sand, making piles and feeling the textures on his hands while Lyla made sure that none of it went in his mouth. She had taken him into the water for a little bit, dipping his toes, but he did not take to the coolness, which was just as well as she didn’t feel much like going in anyway.

She liked watching her oldest son and husband playing in the water. Louis was like a child himself as he chased his son around, knocking him in the shallow water and running off as his son retaliated. Lyla thought that August was starting to resemble Louis more as he grew. Sure, he had Lyla’s colouring – the same hair, the same smile, the same non-Irish skin tone – but he was taller like his father with that same runner’s build and musculature. It was cool to see both she and Louis mixed together in this talented teenager. She suspected that Ben would favour Louis even more – he already had the dark hair and fair skin though he got his mother’s eye colour. Everything else seemed to be from Louis. She wondered if Louis’ dream would come true and they’d have a little girl just like her.

August came running up to where Lyla was sitting with all of their belongings, a grin wide on his face. “Mom, dad told me to send you out. Can I have something to eat?”

“There are sandwiches in the cooler. Some fruit too. The water’s too cold for me.”

August searched through the cooler, “he said you’d say that and told me to tell you that he won’t come out until you’re in, even if he has to die there.”

Lyla rolled her eyes, “a little dramatic, isn’t he?”

August shrugged, taking a large bite of his ham sandwich.

She sighed and stood. “Make sure your brother doesn’t eat sand.” With the sand burning her feet, she nearly ran to the water, feeling that if she listened closely, she would be able to hear the sizzling of her hot feet meeting cool water.

“C’mon in, the water’s great!” Louis shouted with a wide grin as Lyla stopped at her knees.

“I think I’m good here,” she responded, shading the sun from her eyes as she looked to her husband.

Louis made an indiscernible noise and walked slowly towards his wife. She backed up slightly as the drenched being approached her. “Just give me a hug, dear wife,” he said, arms outstretched.

Lyla closed her eyes and clenched her fists as his cold body enveloped hers. He laughed as the hairs on her arms raised with a wave of goosebumps but kept her in his hold as he began to walk deeper into the water. She squealed and stumbled after him until he swooped her up in his arms. “Don’t you dare,” she warned, but her laughter took the edge off her tone.

He walked with Lyla cradled in his arms, her own arms around his neck, until he was waist deep. “My arms, Lyla. They’re just so tired.”

“Louis,” she whined, holding onto his neck tighter.

Suddenly, his arms disappeared and she was in the water up to her ribs still grasping onto her husband and gasping as her body acclimated to the chilling water.

“We’re divorced now,” she said, still locked around his neck.

“Ah, but think of all the paper work,” he smiled, kissing her forehead before plunging his fists into the water and creating large waves.

Lyla squealed again, this time pushing Louis away from her and splashing him, which he returned with a lot more effectiveness. They carried on until Lyla was soaked and had no choice but to go under to keep her hair out of her face.

“Better?” Louis asked once she breached the surface.

“Colder.”

Louis laughed, “well that’s good in this heat.”

“I guess. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said, stepping close to her. “Not for anythin’ in that cooler though.”

She pushed him away, playfully slapping his exploring hands, “well, I guess that’s too bad for you then.”

Louis laughed, “I s’pose I’ll settle for a sandwich then.”

They walked onto the beach and sat down on their towels, dripping wet. Lyla rifled through the cooler and tossed a sandwich to Louis before getting one for herself.

“I’ll be right back,” August announced, standing with his flip flops.

“Don’t go too far,” Louis managed through a mouth full of sandwich while Ben crawled towards him, determined to have said sandwich for himself.

“I won’t,” said August before running off down the path.

“I think he’s explored the whole campground already. What else is there?” Lyla said, setting her sandwich on top of the cooler. “Ben, if you’re going in the sun, I’m going to have to reapply sunscreen.” She reached into her bag and did just that, the sunscreen mixing with the bits of sand scattered all over his little arms and legs. He pulled away but didn’t complain otherwise. “You’ll need more too,” she said to Louis who was feeding his son bits of his own sandwich.

“You don’t think I’d look good wit’ a little bit of a tan?” Louis asked, holding his arms out for the sun to scald.

“If your skin was capable of tanning, maybe. But your skin is too beautiful for that anyway,” she replied, drying the excess water from his back and applying a generous amount of sunblock to his pale skin. Once she was satisfied with her husband’s sun protection, she applied it to herself before continuing to consume her own sandwich.

“Why do you put sunscreen on if you’re just gonna sit in the shade?” Louis asked, building with Ben in the sand.

Lyla shrugged. “You just worry about that castle you’re building. If I were living there, I’d have something to say about the mote.”

“Ben, your mam doesn’t appreciate our creative vision,” he complained as Ben squeezed sand between his fingers, watching it fall to the ground. “Well, Lyla, you’re not invited to the housewarming.”

“I think you’re having a lot more fun with that than Ben is. Just make sure he doesn’t eat any of the architecture.” She laid back on her towel and placed her hat over her head for a little bit of a rest. When she woke, it was because of Ben’s cries. “What’s wrong?” she croaked, reaching for water.

“Wouldn’t let him eat sand. Don’t worry, I blamed it on your strict rules,” Louis joked, trying to comfort the cranky toddler.

“Oh, good. We should get him back to the tent for a nap anyway. Has August come back?”

Louis shook his head, “no, but you were only down for a few minutes.”

“Oh. Well, I feel excellent. Would you stay here for August? I’ll take Ben back?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Louis passed the crying Ben to his wife and kissed her. “I’ll see you soon.”


	31. July 2010 (3)

Lyla’s nose felt cold in the early morning; the temperature had fallen considerably overnight. She peeked at August and then Ben to see them each sleeping soundly, unaffected by the cold. In fact, she realized, it hadn’t been the cold that had woken her. As she began to become more alert, she felt a warm hand gently fondling her breast beneath her shirt and a hardness against her. She turned her head to glance behind her.

Louis was still sleeping soundly, breathing steadily, and Lyla had to stifle a giggle.

“Louis, love,” she whispered, careful to only wake her target. “Wake up.”

He heard her and responded with a loud grunt which she urged quiet.

“Wake up,” she repeated, his one hand still working automatically. “Remember where we are.”

That seemed to spark something; his hand froze, and his breathing changed. Louis squinted at his wife and sighed. He moved his hand from her breast to her stomach and pulled her close. “Sorry,” he whispered, kissing the back of her head. “’S cold,” he said after a moment, eyes closed and breathing beginning to slow again.

Lyla turned around to face him, wrapping her one arm around him. She kissed his nose in response and buried her head against his chest before they both fell back asleep.

* * *

A large resounding boom caused both Lyla and Louis to jump awake. Ben’s wails followed immediately, and Lyla leapt up to get him, unsure of what was going on. It wasn’t until she was back on her air mattress next to her equally startled husband that she gathered what was happening.

Rain fell like bullets upon the canvas encasing them, sounding like hail rather than raindrops. When lightning flashed, it was followed immediately by crashing thunder and a new wave of howls from the youngest Connelly. Lyla knew how he felt, wanting to curl up in a fetal position herself and wait for the storm to pass or take them all away.

“I think the tent’s leaking,” August almost-shouted over the white noise.

He moved his sleeping bag and mat away from the tent’s edge to see the seam letting in a small trickle of water.

“Right,” Louis said, standing as much as the tent’s height would allow. “Let’s get everythin’ away from the edges so it’s not pushin’ the tent out and maybe that’ll help.”

Lyla stood while Louis and August did just that. She held Ben close to her, trying to soothe him through the shivers of apprehension coursing throughout her body, but tensed and held on too tight every time the thunder would sound, which set Ben off even more.

The only time she had ever been camping was with Lizzy and some other Juilliard friends after graduation, but that was in a cabin and could hardly be considered camping. She had never been camping in a tent, let alone in a tent during an intense storm. While she liked to watch thunderstorms from the safety of her apartment, being in the middle of one was an entirely different story and seemed to be a fear she didn’t realize she had.

As the wind started picking up and the rain seemed to hit the tent harder, Lyla clutched Ben against her chest, eyes closed tight and body frozen in place.

“Dad,” August said, pausing in his task.

“Yeah?”

August motioned to his mother who seemed to be holding on too tightly to his brother and shivering uncontrollably, eyes tightly closed.

Louis dropped the bag he was moving and immediately tended to his wife. “Lyla,” he said, resting his hand on her arm. She shook her head but remained the same otherwise. “Let me see Ben,” he suggested, taking him from her arms and passing him off to August who looked beyond concerned for his mother. She hugged herself instead until Louis wrapped his arms around her.

August soothed his brother, trying to take his mind off of the noises outside and the tension from his mother while Louis swayed silently with Lyla, rubbing her back, trying to warm and calm her. But a loud crack of thunder that seemed to vibrate the ground pushed her to her limit and she began to sob into his sweater. He held her as tight as he could and said, “August, get the keys from my bag. We’re goin’ to go in the car. Cover Ben with his blanket when you go.”

August pulled on his shoes and opened the tent door, revealing the wall of rain that reduced visibility to almost zero. He picked up Ben, slinging the blanket over both of their heads, before darting out with the keys into the rain. He pressed the button on the keys to unlock the SUV and disappeared inside.

“Right, Lyla, a chuisle mo chroí,” Louis soothed, pulling back from his terrified wife. “We’re goin’ to go to the car where it’s a little dryer and feels a little bit safer, yeah?”

Lyla shook her head, rational thought not feeling possible in her present state.

“It’ll be better if you can see what’s goin’ on,” he persuaded. “Ben and August are already there and need their mam. Let’s go.”

Lyla shook her head again.

“Right,” Louis said, pulling his own shoes on before grabbing Lyla’s. “You don’t have a choice, my love.” He then quite literally swept her off her feet and she yelped in response before holding on tightly to his neck and burying her face against his shoulder. He carried her to the car and was met by August who opened the passenger side door for them. Gently, he set her in the seat and closed the door before returning to the tent for anything they might need and zipping it up. When he returned to the car and got into the driver’s side, he was soaked through and shivering while Lyla was sitting like she was in a plane about to crash. “Can I have the keys?”

August passed the keys to his father while both his mother and brother tearfully protested to the weather.

Louis turned the car on and blasted the heat, the white noise drowning out some of the rain and thunder. He then turned on the stereo and inserted one of Lyla’s classical music discs into the player, turning the volume up loud enough so that a barrier between the outside world was created as the music and fans combined together.

While August worked nobly on soothing his little brother, Louis watched Lyla carefully, rubbing her back with his one hand. It took a couple of agonizingly long songs for Lyla’s breathing to become normal and steady. Rain still pounded on the car, lightning still flashed, and thunder could be heard as an undertone to the music, blending in nicely with the baseline, but it all became secondary to Lyla rather than her primary focus. She sat up straight in her seat, eyes closed, her lips tight as she controlled her breathing. Her face was red and tearstained, and her hair stuck to the dampness of her skin. Louis moved his hand to her leg, offering a hand of comfort.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes and looked around. Where everything had once seemed catastrophic, she now saw a regular thunderstorm that she was safely sheltered from in the car. Lyla looked at Louis before immediately averting her eyes. Concern and apprehension was plastered all over his face and she felt instantly embarrassed. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, taking a hold of her hand in his.

“Sorry,” she repeated as she nodded. “I don’t know what happened. Just… being in a tent during a storm.” She gave her head a shake. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way though.” She turned to the back to see August and a now silent Ben, “sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“We’re okay,” August assured her, bouncing Ben on his knee to keep him happy.

“As long as you’re feeling safe, that’s all that matters,” Louis said. “I’m thinkin’ we drive to the bathrooms and do what needs doin’, then sit the storm out in the car. What d’you say?”

* * *

 

The Connelly family spent the morning of Louis’ birthday sitting in the borrowed SUV, trying to keep each other entertained and distracted. By noon, it had stopped raining and the forecast called for sunshine and blue skies for the rest of the week. Ben was placed out of the way in his little screened in tent while Louis, Lyla, and August worked at salvaging their tent and bedding.

Small puddles of water had formed inside the tent from rain getting through the bottom seams and the ceiling screens not protected by the sheltering tarp. Louis and Lyla’s bedding had been unaffected, safe on the air mattress, but August’s sleeping bag and mat were soaked in random places. They used extra rope to create more drying lines and hung up everything from the sleeping bag to the towels used to dry the tent floor. With the temperature steadily increasing and the best hours of the day still upon them, there was no doubt that everything would be dry by the time they settled in for bed. If worst came to worse, they could hunker down in the SUV for the night.

Once everything was drying out, they decided to do a series of small local hikes in preparation for a longer one they’d be doing on Thursday. Despite the rough morning start, the day was positive and ended on a high note. In the early evening hours, Lyla drove with Ben to a nearby store while Louis and August went to the beach again. Lyla wasn’t a big fan of the beach and neither, it seemed, was Ben. Neither of them were fans of the cold water and Lyla hated how the sand dried out her skin. She was happy that Louis and August were the same when it came to their love of the beach; she didn’t have to pretend that she liked it to appease either of them. In the store, she found everything she wanted for Louis’ birthday: steaks, potatoes, beer, and cake, the last of which required some assembly and was actually a couple of packages of two-bite brownies with a soon-to-be-melted chocolate bar and candles.

Back at their site, she began building the fire. She had seen Louis do it multiple times since they arrived but had never done it herself, and she struggled a great deal. But, in the end, there was a fire in the pit along with some foil-wrapped potatoes baking on top. For the steak, she got out the camp stove, not trusting her skills for cooking over a fire. She wasn’t sure about how to cook steak and was relieved when Louis and August returned before she could mess anything up.

“What’s this?” Louis grinned, kissing Lyla’s cheek and causing a chill to run through her following contact with his cold skin.

“Your birthday feast,” she replied with a dramatic flourish of her hand. “Except,” she admitted, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Louis laughed. “Let me get changed and I’ll show you.”

When he was dressed, he showed Lyla how to properly bake a potato (the foil was facing the wrong way) and how to cook the steaks (she hadn’t used any sauces or spices). In the end, he did most of the work while she watched, but he didn’t mind; Lyla being by his side was enough.

After dinner, Lyla disappeared into the SUV trunk with a clean plate to create her birthday cake masterpiece. She arranged the two-bite brownies in a circular pattern before melting some chocolate mixed with milk above the campfire, shielding her secret from the prying eyes of Louis and her sons. She returned to the trunk and poured the melted chocolate over her brownies, spreading it evenly over the entire surface. It looked more like an actual cake after the process was complete. For the last touch, she stuck the entire pack of candles into the brownies and lit them. From the trunk, she emerged singing Happy Birthday and presented it to her husband who was beyond grateful.

Once dinner and dessert was finished (Lyla was more than happy to clean up everything to feel somewhat useful) and Ben was put to bed, the three remaining Connellys sat around the fire that Lyla had proudly created. August had been inspired by something in their day and sat silently with his notebook, writing music then scratching it out and then writing again, composing something assuredly brilliant. Louis and Lyla traded conversation about their day and about stories from their past inspired by the day’s events before they fell into a silence in the late hour, entranced by the fire.

Louis had never been big on birthdays – even before his mom died, there were never big celebrations for birthdays. Christmas? Yes, of course. Birthdays? Not so much. So when he grew up, it was just another day. Marshall celebrated his birthday more than he did. Louis just never felt any kind of urge to celebrate. But Lyla always did. She would always figure something out to make him feel special and celebrated.

“August,” said Lyla, startling Louis who had been mesmerized by the fire. “Do you mind keeping an ear out for Ben while your dad and I go for a walk?”

August shrugged and nodded but was too focused on his composition to speak.

“Want to go see the stars?” she asked Louis who agreed.

It was past eleven and most campers, the majority being families, were asleep in their trailers and tents. Black sky stretched over the trees, and stars scattered the darkness where the moon, itself large and bright, couldn’t reach.

Louis and Lyla walked hand-in-hand down the familiar path leading towards the beach, but instead of taking the left towards the beach, Lyla led him right, further into the forest. If it weren’t for the moon lighting up their path between the trees, there would be a feeling of unease. As it were, they felt safe and comfortable.

“Are you takin’ me somewhere to harvest my organs?” Louis joked as they took a left down a narrower path.

Lyla chuckled, “yes.”

“Ah, good. Just make good use of them.”

The path began to slope gently before becoming very steep. Roots sticking out of the ground made for natural hand and footholds though, so it wasn’t a great challenge. If the moon wasn’t so bright, it certainly would have been.

At the top of the slope, they were standing on a stone formation that overlooked part of the lake hidden away from the regular beach. The moon’s brilliance hid most traces of stars, wanting the spotlight for itself, and reflected on the mostly-still water below them.

Lyla and Louis sat on a small boulder and took in the beauty of the clear night that had seemed so far away in the morning’s storm. Nothing needed to be said. They kept hold of each other’s hand and looked all around them, the light in the darkness filling them with wonder. Time passed.

“Do you still talk to the moon?” Lyla asked, thinking of their first night together under the moon.

Louis smiled and squeezed his wife’s hand. “When I talked to the moon, it was emptiness and loneliness that moved the conversation. Or a missing connection. I’m not empty. I’m not lonely. Nothin’s missin’ now. I have everythin’ I ever wanted. The moon has others to help.”

Lyla leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. “You have such a beautiful soul,” she whispered.

“I learn from the best.”

Lyla exhaled a laugh before stretching to kiss his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. “I love you so much. Are you feelin’ better?”

Lyla was confused for a moment; the storm had seemed so far away. She rested her head against Louis, “yeah, I’m okay. It’s so strange to realize that you have a fear you never knew about. I guess mine is thunderstorms.”

“In tents, specifically,” Louis suggested. “You love watchin’ thunderstorms from the apartment.”

“In tents only,” Lyla agreed. “I have a newfound fearful respect for thunderstorms.”

Louis chuckled, “well, I’ll always be there if a storm ever tries anythin’.”

“I know you will,” Lyla smiled.

They sat again in silence again, listening to each other’s breathing and seeing only the other person in the moonlight. Lyla looked up into Louis’ eyes, darkened by the night. His skin, already very fair, was made ethereal by the moon’s presence. In an instant, she was nineteen again, drawn to a stranger with a soothing voice and dreamer’s heart, the moon highlighting his face too.

“What’re you thinkin’?” he smirked, her eyes scanning his face but her thoughts far away.

“The night we met. You looked just like you look now.”

“With a few more wrinkles.”

“No. Just as you are now. That was the best night of my life.”

“Not the wedding? The birth of your children?” He asked with mock outrage.

Lyla laughed, “those were pretty good too. But without that first night, we wouldn’t have any of it.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” He played with curling strands of hair falling out of Lyla’s hair tie. “We were meant to be, you an’ me. If we didn’t meet on the roof, we would meet somewhere else. Only then, we wouldn’t have August, so it’s good we met when we did.”

Lyla pondered his beliefs. “Where would we meet in this alternate timeline?”

“Well,” Louis began, thinking of all the possibilities. “I wouldn’t’ve ever quit the band. I wouldn’t enjoy it, but I’d stick it out for Marshall and the boys. We’d get signed and gain enough fame in New York to make an impact. I’d meet some girl – a model probably—” Lyla laughed. “—and we’d be married – I always wanted to be married, so I’d probably rush in – and I’d take her to the Philharmonic for some anniversary so that I could look smarter and more cultured than I ever could be. But up on the stage, there you’d be as a one-night special guest, obviously at Yo-Yo Ma levels of fame without the interestin’ name – sorry – and I’d fall in love with you instantly. I would insist to my wife that we stay after the show so that we could meet the musicians, but I’d secretly only want to stay for you. You and I would meet and when we shook hands, we would feel that electricity. For the next year, we’d become close friends, not doin’ anythin’ about it all, but I’d grow more distant from my wife who’d be okay with that. I’d divorce, we’d get married, and we’d live happily ever after.”

“Am I married in this scenario?”

“Ah, no. You’d be a heartbreaker. Lover after lover, but no one could tame you.”

“Right. Sounds exactly like me,” Lyla replied sarcastically. “So, I’d just be the homewrecker.”

“Yup. It’d be in all the newspapers. You’d be the Angelina of the classical music world.”

“You know me so well.”

Louis laughed. “Point is: we’d be together no matter what. Some things’d be a bit different, but we’d be together.”

“Good. I couldn’t imagine a life half as happy if it weren’t for you.”

“I’m there with you,” he agreed.

Lyla sat up so that she could reach Louis’ lips with her own. “Hang on,” she said, pushing off of him and standing up away from him so that she was only a silhouette in the moonlight. She kicked off her flip-flops – not the best footwear for their small hike, even if it was a short one – before pushing down her blue leggings and purple panties, leaving them abandoned in a small pile.

Louis glanced around them, though for what, he didn’t know. They were completely alone save for the moon.

Her t-shirt was just long enough to retain some modesty as she quickly made her way back to her husband and sat on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. She drew him into a slow kiss while his hand ran from her knees up between her thighs. Lyla pulled away from him and stood, bringing him up with her. He followed, being led by his hand, and Lyla brought them to a more level area.

“You drive me crazy,” he said as she removed his shirt, placing it as a makeshift blanket on the ground.

“I know,” she laughed, laying back on his shirt, a thin barrier between her skin and the hard rock. She ran her hand from knee to thigh. “What are you going to do about it?”

He grinned and knelt in front of her, kissing her calf, her thigh, her hip, her neck, her lips. She ran her hands through his hair, her lips attached to his by some invisible force, while his one hand worked methodically between her legs until her hands were no longer in his hair but reaching to push down his sweats, desperate to have him inside her. He took her hands, kissed them, and placed them on her chest before doing what she had been unsuccessfully trying to do.

Immediately, her legs were wrapped around his body and they moved together slowly, rhythmically, lost in one another. The crickets and owls sang their songs, accompanied by the lovers’ soft breaths and whispers. They worked slowly and gently, tending to one another, in no hurry to leave their moonlit secret behind.

Back at their site, the fire was glowing dully, and August was nowhere to be seen, having gone to bed some time ago. It was quiet so late into the night. Peaceful.

Louis and Lyla walked back, leaning into one another as lovers do, the moon lighting their way as they left their midnight tryst to make its home in their memories. With a quick stop at the bathrooms, they returned to their site, made sure everything that could attract wildlife was securely away, and went to bed.

 


	32. July 2010 (4)

The Connellys had left their campsite before eight on Friday morning so that they could get back into San Francisco by twelve, check in to their hotel, return the borrowed camping gear and car, and head over to the Sunshine Festival. Louis rushed out at two o’clock to meet and prep with the rest of The Connelly Brothers who were staying at the festival in a trailer provided by the generous organizers while Lyla and her sons relaxed in the hotel for a little while, taking full advantage of the plumbing and soft beds.

At five, they headed down to the festival, ready for The Connelly Brothers to go on at six. After their performance, Louis and Marshall were slated to meet their half-brother for the first time.

Ben wore a large pair of noise-cancelling headphones that he had fussed over until distracted by a cookie, and Lyla strapped him to her chest so that he could see everything around them. August followed absent-mindedly behind them, entranced by the music and food and people in the festival spirit.

“Keep close, August,” Lyla shouted over the noise, having to stop for the Nth time as August fell behind, undoubtedly distracted by something shiny.

“Sorry,” he replied, catching up in a few large steps. “Can I go explore a bit?”

Lyla shook her head, “let’s get to dad’s stage first. Then you can wander around there.”

There was a small crowd already forming in front of the stage. Lyla wasn’t sure how many people were there for The Connelly Brothers and how many were just getting a good view for later performances, but it was a promising turn out either way. She knew they were gaining in popularity. There were more than a few moments in New York when she would be out with Louis somewhere and a fan would recognize him from one of The Connelly Brothers’ many performances. It was bizarre, but every encounter was pleasant and genuine.

Lyla and August flashed their passes at a member of security who let them through the barrier between crowd and stage. Backstage, The Connelly Brothers were talking and laughing over a couple of pre-show drinks.

“Hey,” Louis grinned when he spotted his family. He quickly kissed Lyla before turning his attention to the toddler squealing happily upon seeing his father. “Hey Benny boy.” He took Ben out of his carrier, allowing Lyla to relax.

They all sat chatting, laughing, and drinking until it was time for The Connelly Brothers to set up and begin the performances at their stage. August went off to explore with his mom’s permission while Lyla put Ben back in his carrier and went out in front of the stage to view the concert.

Drums began at exactly six o’clock, followed quickly by guitar, bass, fiddle, and vocals. Lyla swayed gently from side to side with the music, happy with the receptive crowd.

“How’re you feelin’, San Francisco?” Louis’ voice rang out as their first song finished. Some enthusiastic cheers, none more enthusiastic than Lyla’s, rippled through the crowd. “We’re The Connelly Brothers. Thanks for the support. This is ‘Twisted Things’.” He then moved seamlessly into their next song, keeping the tempo upbeat. The crowd was very receptive; even those who were clearly not there for the Brothers found themselves dancing to the beat and cheering the band on through the next couple of songs.

Lyla watched as Marshall said something to Louis following their next song and disappeared off stage. She assumed that it was nature calling, his bladder control not being quite where it needed to be following the surgery.

“We’re gonna do somethin’ a little different,” Louis announced, trying to fill in the void that was the bassline. “I’m goin’ to ask my beautiful wife to come on stage.” He looked directly at Lyla who was vehemently shaking her head. It was one thing to be on stage with an orchestra for fans of classical instrumental music, but quite another to be in front of festival-goers who were most certainly not her people. “C’mon,” Louis said, “be brave. Let’s cheer her on, yeah?”

The audience turned their attention and enthusiasm on Lyla who fled with Ben to the stage if only to escape the eager eyes of those around her.

“There she is,” Louis said, miming for the audience to clap, which they did. “This here is Lyla. Say hi, Lyla.”

Lyla did so but not without dramatically narrowed eyes glaring at her husband.

“She doesn’t look too happy. And this is Ben. Say hi, Ben.”

Ben smiled and waved, mimicking his father, deaf to the world around him. A large majority of the crowd, well into the beer by now, ate it up and cheered Ben on.

“Right, so Lyla plays the cello. Lucky for us, there were some string acts earlier this afternoon, so we have a cello on loan for my talented, beautiful, adorin’ wife to play a song with us.”

Lyla rolled her eyes, “I can’t play with Ben strapped to me.” She thought she’d at least try to get out of it.

“She’s usin’ our kid as an excuse,” Louis told the audience, receiving a chorus of over-exaggerated boos. “Look, Daryl, the sound guy’s offerin’ to hold him.” A man they had talked to before the show came on stage wearing a headset. He handed Lyla a bow and cello in exchange for Ben who was perfectly amiable. “Give it up for Daryl,” Louis shouted to the crowd who cheered.

“What am I supposed to play?” Lyla asked, sitting in a provided chair and checking that the instrument was tuned.

“So,” Louis spoke in to the microphone, “we’ve only done this with a couple of songs, so bear with us. It’s a good sound though, promise. Lyla, that Bach one. The da-na da da da da da-da da one, yeah?”

Again, Lyla rolled her eyes, but knew what he was talking about.

Louis shouted to the band. “Well, let’s see how it goes, yeah?” The crowd cheered, supportive.

Lyla began the piece from memory. It was a modified version of the song she soloed on the night she met Louis. With their lives being so closely linked through music, they liked to combine their disciplines and make something new. It had only ever been done within their family though, never as a performance piece. As she hit the jarring minor chords usually reserved for smaller strings, the drums, fiddle, and guitar joined in performing one of their earlier songs, and one of their highest selling songs on iTunes, ‘Break’. Lyla’s cello weaved in and out of the rock melody, a perfect soft accent to the hardness of the song until the instruments reached the final notes and the song ended on a high, the crowd enthusiastic in its praise.

“Lyla Connelly, everyone,” Louis said, flourishing his hand dramatically.

Lyla gave a half-hearted bow before trading the cello and bow for her son. Before she left the stage, she gave Louis a quick kiss to the delight of the crowd. She passed a confused Marshall as he took his place back behind his mic.

“Baby bro,” Marshall spoke into his microphone, preparing his bass again. “I’m gone for two minutes and the world turns upside down. Your wife switchin’ careers?”

“Depends. What d’you all think?” The crowd cheered loudly while Lyla hid backstage with her son.

“Darlin’,” Marshall shouted, “your musical taste is improvin’. Congrats!”

The crowd laughed as Louis began playing the notes to their next song until Marshall and the rest joined in. “We have time for a couple more songs,” said Louis. “We’ll leave my poor wife alone now. Here’s ‘Bitter Sensations’.”

Lyla waited for the band to go onto their next song before going back into the crowd, hoping that most people would just ignore her so she could finish watching the show and find August again. Some people raised their drinks to her or shouted her name, but she got away relatively unscathed. She made her way to a drinks stall for something other than water along with a snack. As she paid, someone said her name. She had hoped her fifteen seconds of fame had run their course and sighed. With her beer and chips paid for, she turned to face the voice’s owner. Marshall. Or, rather, Marshall’s doppelganger.

“John?”

“Uh, yeah. How’d y’know?” The young man seemed caught off-guard by the lack of need for an introduction.

“You look exactly like Marshall,” Lyla replied, “who looks exactly like your father did.” She tucked her chips behind Ben in the carrier and held out her hand, “it’s nice to meet you.”

He took her hand and shook it, “you too.”

He did look eerily like Marshall, like he was cloned from the man. Of course, he was younger, but if John wanted to see what he would like in a couple of decades, he need only look on stage. However, there was some difference to him in the way that he carried himself. Marshall was loud and confident with a labourer’s build. John, on the other hand, seemed quieter and was thinner, most certainly not a labourer.

“Did you want a drink?” Lyla offered.

“No thanks, I’m not much of a drinker.” Another difference.

“Alright, well, I’m just going to find my son before I go back to the stage if you want to wait.”

“What does he look like?”

She thought it would be so much easier if he looked just like Louis instead of strangely equal mash-up of his two parents. “About your height. Brown hair. Blue eyes. He’s wearing a blue t-shirt and black jeans. Probably looks lost in thought.”

He walked with her as they wandered around the crowd, keeping an eye out for August and trading conversation on different things, trying to learn about each other. Lyla found that John was very polite and not at all like his father or who she assumed was his mother that she saw in the pub in Cork. He was a lot more academic than Marshall ever was and even more so than Louis. She found that he was working towards being a doctor but also played in a band, though his was more Irish folk than rock and while he sang lead vocals, he played banjo of all instruments. However, he said, he also knew guitar and a little bit of fiddling.

“Mom,” August’s voice came as Lyla and John discussed how they got into music, finding some sort of common ground for ease of conversation.

“There you are,” she said. “Find anything interesting?”

August shook his head, “too much.”

Lyla smiled, “you’ll have to tell me all about it later. August, this is dad and Marshall’s half-brother, John. John, this is mine and Louis’ oldest, August.”

The two shook hands and the four of them returned to the stage to watch the end of The Connelly Brothers’ performance, making way for the next act moments later.

“August, stay with John for a moment,” Lyla said as the Brothers left the stage. “I’ll let Marshall and Louis know you’re here.”

Following a performance, the boys were usually riding a high and this performance was no different. They were rehydrating when Lyla returned. Louis met her with a kiss, “thanks for bein’ a good sport.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

Louis laughed, “well, how’d we do?”

“Spectacular as always. Even the people in the crowd for other bands were fans by your second song.”

“Didn’t happen to get any video or pictures?” Marshall asked.

“No, sorry, I didn’t think of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.”

“D’you know where August is?” asked Louis. “Maybe he managed to get somethin’.”

“Yes!” said Lyla, thankful for the segue. “Actually, he’s out front waiting… with your half-brother.”

“Shit,” Marshall exclaimed. “How’d you find him?”

“He found me actually. He was watching the set and found me after my cameo. He’s pretty much your clone, Marshall. Except probably smarter.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, “well, thanks, darlin’. Lou, you ready?”

Louis shrugged, “let’s go.”

The brothers left their bandmates to pack up the last of their equipment for storage and followed Lyla past security to where August and John waited.

There was some awkward hesitation as Marshall and Louis and John all came face-to-face with their father’s secrets, but Marshall made the first move and held out his hand, “John.”

John took Marshall’s hand and shook, “Marshall.”

“Hey, John,” Louis said, taking his hand as well. “I’m Louis.”

“It’s good to finally meet both of you,” said John. “It’s a weird situation.”

“That it is, John-o,” Marshall said, hitting his half-brother on the back a little too hard. “Let’s go get pissed.” He swung his arm over John’s shoulders and force-led him towards the concessions.

“Guess we’re goin’ drinkin’,” Louis murmured to Lyla, leaning in for a kiss. “You alright?”

“John said he doesn’t drink.”

“Don’t think he’s got a choice with Marshall leadin’ the way.”

“Okay. We’ll probably head back to the hotel soon.”

“Can’t we stay a bit longer?” August chimed in, riding the festival high, invigorated by the music and crowds.

“You can come along with us,” Louis suggested, he and Lyla silently agreeing. “We’ll be back in one piece a little later.”

“Alright,” Lyla sighed. “Be safe.” She kissed Louis one last time and squeezed August’s arm before they all parted ways. “I guess it’s just me and you,” Lyla said to Ben before heading back to the hotel.

* * *

Lyla woke up with the memory of her and Louis’ romantic moonlight adventure at the forefront of her mind. She dreamt about Louis’ tongue working to make her scream and his strong hands touching every part of her body; she hoped that she was silent while she slept.

Outside of the dream, Louis was next to her fully clothed, smelling of sweat and beer and bad breath. She vaguely remembered him coming in and falling next to her, but she was in too deep a sleep for her to be cognizant of much more. But she knew it was late and wanted him to get his rest for his Saturday afternoon show. Besides that, it was still dark and she really needed to get back to sleep as well.

Even so, she couldn’t. She wanted to sneak away with Louis and feel like she did under the stars. August and Ben would be asleep, and she would make sure they were quick. Forgetting all reason to leave Louis alone, she ran her hand from his shoulder to his hand and brought it to rest on her thigh, running her own hand under his shirt. Her hand must have been cold because he took a sharp breath in and rested his free hand on top of hers before tilting his head to face her. His face was puffy with alcohol and he was too tired to open his eyes fully.

“What’re you dreamin’ about?” he croaked in a soft, almost inaudible whisper.

“You,” she whispered back, moving her body close to him and his hand higher up her thigh.

He turned his whole body to face her, feeling the wetness between her legs. “Must’ve been a good dream.”

“Mhmm.” She leaned into him, kissing his neck softly, wanting to devour him. “Let’s go somewhere.”

He removed his hand from her thigh, much to her disappointment, and kissed her cheek. “We can’t. Not now. I did somethin’ stupid.”

Lyla cocked her head, “and what’s that?”

“Well, we were out drinkin’ and I might’ve snuck August a few beers.”

“A few?” She suddenly felt a protective rage.

“Yeah, well, he threw up—”

“I wonder why.”

“—and I’ve been watchin’ him to make sure he’s alright. It’s been ‘bout an hour since the last time I think, and he seems alright, but we can’t leave just now.”

Lyla shook her head and moved back from her husband, “what were you thinking? He’s only fourteen! One, fine. To try. But more than that--”

“Lyla, I know. We can’t talk about his now or we’ll wake everyone up. Get some sleep and we’ll talk about it when it’s light out, yeah?”

She sighed and turned away from Louis without responding but couldn’t get back to sleep knowing that August could be running to the bathroom right away. However, nothing happened, and she did eventually manage to drift back to sleep.

Ben’s cries, more akin to screams, woke Lyla along with everyone else up later in the morning with light streaming in through the drawn curtains. She sat up groggily to get him, but Louis was already up on autopilot, picking Ben up and quieting him down. Lyla stumbled out of bed to the diaper bag while Louis set Ben on their bed to change his diaper. She then turned her attention to August who had pulled his blanket over his eyes in protest of the light.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asked, sitting on the side of his bed.

He groaned in response.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water and some Tylenol then we’ll go downstairs and get some greasy breakfast food, okay?”

August peeked out from beneath the blanket, “okay.”

Lyla patted his shoulder and grabbed a hotel coffee mug of the desk for tap water. But as she turned the bathroom light on, she was stopped dead in her tracks. “Louis!”

Louis appeared behind her with Ben in his arms. “Oh,” he said. “Right, I told John he could stay the night with us.”

Lyla, irritated, closed her eyes and took a deep breath before setting the mug down and kneeling beside Louis’ hungover half-brother. “John? Are you okay?”

His head was propped up against the bathtub at a nearly ninety-degree angle as he squinted between his eyes, assaulted by the fluorescent bathroom lighting. “Yeah,” he croaked. “M’alright. Headache and feel a bit sick.”

“I’ll get you some water and Tylenol. Sit yourself up.” Lyla shot Louis a look and filled up the mug on the counter with water before placing it in John’s hands. “I’ll be right back.” She stormed past her husband without a word, fetching the Tylenol and second mug for August. “Why don’t you lay down on the empty bed?” Lyla suggested once John had taken the pills she gave him. She placed the room’s bin next to the bed just in case before taking up the blankets from the floor where he had been sleeping. “Louis, help me cover the windows please.” The hotel curtains were not nearly dark enough.

Louis set Ben down to toddle around the room and helped Lyla drape the extra blankets over the curtain rod for a little added darkness to the room.

“Thanks,” she said coldly before setting about tidying the rest of the room.

“Lyla, d’you want I should bring us all breakfast back instead of us goin’ down?” He wanted to do what he could to ease Lyla’s annoyance towards him.

“I wanted to hop in the shower while you watched Ben,” Lyla explained, noting that she sounded more upset than she had meant to.

“I’ll take him with me,” he replied quickly, grabbing the carrier from its place on the armchair.

“Okay.” Lyla disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the hungover teenager and half-brother to sleep a little longer.

When Louis returned a half an hour later with paper bags of grease, he heard the hairdryer on in the bathroom while August and John remained dead to the world. He sat Ben in his portable play pen with his toys to distract him while he gave August and John their food. “August, man, wake up,” he whispered, sitting on the side of his son’s bed.

August groaned.

“I’ve got a couple breakfast sandwiches, hashbrowns, juice. Take what you want but eat somethin’.”

August opened his eyes and propped his head up to unwrap and eat a sandwich.

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Okay. Mostly just tired now. The Tylenol helped with the headache.”

“Good. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve let you have so much.”

“It wasn’t just you. Uncle Marshall was giving me drinks too.”

Louis ran his hand over his face. He didn’t know that. “Maybe let’s not tell your mam about that, yeah?”

August smirked and nodded, continuing to eat the greasy food that revived him somewhat.

“John,” Louis whispered a bit louder, “here.” He tossed him a smaller paper bag full of the same foods.

“Thanks,” John grunted in response, digging through the bag with his face still half-covered by the blankets.

“August, keep an eye on Ben. I need to talk to your mam,” Louis said, hoping Ben could last a little while longer before making a fuss for breakfast; he seemed to be concentrating very hard on his toys. Louis knocked softly on the bathroom door, “Lyla? Can we talk?”

“Come in.”

Lyla was applying her makeup in the mirror while the fan whirred noiselessly overhead. She was still in her towel, waiting for the humidity to dissipate so that she could dress more easily.

Louis sat on the edge of the tub watching his wife carefully apply her light eyeliner and mascara, making her green eyes pop.

“How’s August?” she asked after a moment. “And John?”

“They’re okay. John seems a little worse-off. I’m sorry about August. I should’ve done better by him. And I’m sorry for bringin’ John back.”

“I’m not upset about you bringing John back,” explained Lyla as she began dressing. “I’m glad that you got along well enough to offer him a place to sleep. I’m annoyed that you didn’t tell me that he was here and that he was sleeping on the bathroom floor. And I felt like I had to take care of him.”

“We’d just woken up to take care of Ben. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight yet or I would’ve been gettin’ him what he needed.”

Lyla pulled on her dark jean shorts and nodded, “you’re right. I think it’s just another thing on top of my fourteen-year-old son getting drunk by his father and uncle who are supposed to be responsible adults.”

Louis winced at her tone.

“You’re supposed to know better, Louis. What on Earth were you thinking letting August drink more than one? He’s such a skinny kid. And how many did he actually end up having? It was definitely more than a few.”

Louis shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I felt like he was goin’ to feel left out if me, Marshall, and John were drinkin’ away and—”

“He’d just be happy to be there. You know he wouldn’t care.”

“Yeah.”

“And what was Marshall’s part in this? How much did he give August when you weren’t looking?”

“What? I—” He was caught off-guard by her seemingly psychic abilities. “I don’t know.”

“A few beers wouldn’t have had him over a toilet. Marshall was definitely slipping him more. I would’ve thought August would have more sense than to go overboard, but he and Marshall have a weird connection.”

Louis came to his brother’s defense. “Marshall’s a good man. He’s just a bit of an idiot sometimes.”

“I know he’s a good man. He’s also infuriating.” Lyla sighed and sat down next to Louis, softening her tone. “I’m not mad. I’m a bit annoyed. But August is okay, so I couldn’t ask for much else. Just… let’s keep him away from alcohol until he’s twenty-one. At least.” She took hold of Louis’ hand and kissed his cheek. “You need to brush your teeth.”

Louis chuckled, “thanks. I’m goin’ to give Ben his food first before he loses his mind.”

“I’ve got it,” Lyla assured him before standing and leaving Louis to clean himself up.

* * *

Lyla took her place in front of the stage, promising to get photos and video for the band’s promotion. Usually, she’d stay off to the side, away from the crowd, but the angle would not be ideal, so she squished herself front and centre to start.

The Connelly Brothers came onto the stage with some eager support from fans and polite cheers from other pockets in the crowd. Lyla zoomed in on Louis and took his picture as he winked down at her. And as she took individual pictures of all members of The Connelly Brothers, she wondered if she’d ever be able to get them to take a decent picture or if all her shots would be plagued by the contorted faces they insisted on making.

Louis introduced the band to the crowd and then went directly into their set. While Friday evening largely consisted of only their fast-paced music, they decided on more of a mixture of fast and slow for their Saturday afternoon. Marshall was the one who decided on the sets and marketed to the crowd. If he didn’t enjoy working with his hands so much, Lyla thought he could do really well in the marketing and advertisement world.

Lyla moved along the stage as The Connelly Brothers continued their set, Louis occasionally pausing to introduce the members of the band or tell an anecdote or energize the crowd and took various photographs at several angles while singing along softly with the songs she knew so well.

Roughly halfway through their hour-long set, she had moved near the back of the crowd, hoping to get some shots and video that included the supportive audience. It worked out well, she thought, as she managed to get some people singing along to The Connelly Brothers’ songs, which felt surreal to her and would certainly make the boys in the band feel good.

She decided she’d go backstage for a few more pictures from a different point of view when she felt a hand on her waist. Lyla glanced behind her to see an evidently drunk stranger swaying to the music. “These guys’re pretty good, huh?”

Lyla smiled and pulled his hand away, “yeah, they are.”

“You know a lot of their songs? You’re singing a lot,” he observed. “Taking lotsa pictures too. S’that allowed?” His words slurred together like someone who had been festival drunk all week long, and he seemed to sway from side to side.

“I know all of their songs,” she assured him. “Yes, pictures are allowed. I don’t know if it’s okay for the bigger bands though.” She shrugged. “I have to go,” she added, starting to make her way to the edge of the crowd.

“Wait!” the man said, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her back towards him. “Wha’s your name?”

“You need to let go of me,” she warned.

“’M just asking your name,” he groaned. “Y’don’t needa be a bitch about it.”

“Let me go,” she repeated, pulling away.

“Gimme your name and I will.”

“Fuck off, man,” a nearby girl said, overhearing the exchange. “Let her go.”

“Fuckin’ get your nose outta other people’s conversations,” he retorted. “What’s your name?” he asked Lyla again.

Lyla shook her head and worked at his fingers with her other hand, but he only held on tighter.

“Oi!” the music had stopped and Louis’ angry voice echoed over the crowd. “You fuckin’ dipshit at the back harassin’ the girls: take your dirty fuckin’ hand off my wife or I’m comin’ over there to do it for you.”

The relatively sober audience members were searching for the source of Louis’ rage, but the stranger made it easy as he stuck his middle finger in the air and shouted, “fuck you!” Those around Lyla and the stranger took action so that Louis wouldn’t have to, forcing the stranger to release Lyla’s arm from his grip and pushing him back out of the crowd as security made their way towards him.

Lyla snuck off towards the backstage entrance during the commotion and was let through without needing to show her pass. She was met by Louis who urgently asked, “are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” she assured him. “You need to go back onstage.”

Louis shook his head, “I don’t need to. I can stay with you.”

Lyla laughed, “you’re being ridiculous. I’m fine. He was just a drunk idiot and now security has him. Go finish your set. You only have twenty minutes left.”

“Okay,” Louis nodded, wrapping his arms around her, holding her for a moment before kissing the top of her head and letting go. “I’ll see you in twenty.” He glanced back at her as he made his way back onstage. “She says she’s okay,” he said to the cheering crowd. “Thanks to the quality people at the back steppin’ in. Let’s finish this thing, yeah?” His guitar sounded, and the others joined in to finish their set.

Though a little shaken, Lyla was relatively unscathed. She sat for a moment drinking water and looking back through her pictures and videos, deleting the ones she didn’t like, before deciding to continue being photographer from the sides and the back of the stage. Sneaking onto stage behind Steve’s drums garnered some pointed cheers, but she managed to go relatively unnoticed while getting some nice shots.

At the end of the set, she was sitting in the waiting area going through her new pictures as the boys exited the stage with bountiful cheers.

“Lyla,” Marshall near-shouted. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” Lyla nodded. “I’m good.”

“Good,” Marshall exclaimed. “I gotta piss,” and he stalked off towards the porta-potties.

Except for the declaration for urination, the rest of The Connelly Brothers repeated the sentiment almost exactly as they entered the waiting area. She would’ve been beyond annoyed if it were anyone else.

Louis greeted her with a kiss and wanted to ask her if she was okay but thought better of it. She had assured him that she was and pushing the issue would only serve to irritate her. “How’d the photos come?”

“They turned out pretty well if I do say so myself. Managed to get some good video too. I want to edit the colours on some of them – just to enhance them – and then you can upload them or do whatever you do with them.”

“That’s great,” Louis replied. “Thanks for doin’ that.”

“It was actually kind of fun,” she said, wrapping her arms around his left one as they left the backstage area. “I’ll definitely do other shows for you too,” she suggested.

“Yeah?”

Lyla nodded.

“Thanks, that’d be great.”

The two of them stopped near the concessions with the rest of the band, Marshall meeting up with them shortly after. “You two stickin’ around?”

Louis looked at Lyla who shook her head, “I want to see some of the city. And we should check in on our children, I guess.”

“Yeah, tell the nephew hi for me,” Marshall joked. Lyla had chewed him out about August before the show and Marshall had taken it on the chin. “See you tomorrow I guess.”

“I was thinkin’ we could meet up for dinner with John a little later,” Louis suggested.

“Yeah, sure,” Marshall agreed. “Just shoot me a message then.”

They said their goodbyes and Louis and Lyla made their way back to their hotel.

John had gone back to his hostel where he and his friends were staying in order to change clothes and go back to the festival. He had left a number to be contacted by, which August pointed his father to. August had put Ben down for a nap and had been watching TV for most of the day though, Lyla noticed thankfully, he had showered and changed into fresh clothes.

Louis packed whatever they might need into a backpack and the four of them set off into the city to see some of the sights. By eight o’clock they were starving, despite having a small meal in the late afternoon, and had met up with Marshall and John at a busy upscale restaurant with rustic décor and an ocean view. Marshall complained, but everyone else was happy with the choice.

Lyla talked a little but mostly sat back and let Marshall and Louis talk with their half-brother. It was interesting to see the dynamic being created. They all got on well with one another, Louis even more so despite his initial reservations. Louis had created an image of John in his head as this man being an exact duplicate of his father or someone with malicious intent, but John was nothing like their father. At least, nothing like the father Louis and Lyla had met.

He was quieter like Louis, which he attributed to his grandfather on his mother’s side, but honest and straightforward like Marshall, which meant that they were able to learn a lot about him without having to ask much. Louis seemed to click with him easier than Marshall did, and it was strange to see since he resembled Marshall so exactly.

John was bright, having completed his first year of Medical School in Dublin the past Spring. He had a girlfriend that he started dating in his second year of University while working towards his Undergrad with a double major in Chemistry and Biology, and he planned to propose to her after he graduated Med school in a few years. Unlike Louis, he was very logical and very much the practical man rather than the dreamer, but Louis liked that he was ambitious and knew what he wanted. Marshall had often irritated Louis with his too-laidback attitude even if he was a hard worker. They complemented each other but Louis and John seemed to match more.

On Sunday morning, John and his friends would be moving onwards to San Diego, so the Saturday night dinner served as a send-off as well. Marshall and Louis had a few drinks and Lyla indulged a little as well while John adamantly stayed away from alcohol this time and August suffered jokes at his expense (mostly courtesy of Marshall). Everyone was in high spirits as the hour neared midnight and it was time to say goodbye. They wished John well as he made his way back to his hostel, having to wake up quite early, and promised to keep in contact and meet up again in the future.

“Want another drink?” Marshall asked, heading towards the bar.

“Nah, we’re probably gonna head out soon,” replied Louis.

“Louie! You’re on vacation!”

“Have another,” Lyla encouraged. “Ben’s fine.”

Louis stood, “d’you want anythin’? August?”

“Just water,” Lyla said as August shook his head.

Louis returned a few moments later with two beers and a water, the last of which he sat down in front of Lyla. She had Ben strapped to her chest with his noise-cancelling headphones on, sleeping soundly despite the music and chatter from the people around them.

“Where’s Uncle Marshall?” August asked. He was tired as well, but his lazy day helped him stay awake.

“Just gone to the bathroom,” Louis explained. “He wants us to go somewhere else,” he said to Lyla.

“Like where?”

“Another bar or a pub or somethin’. He wants to go to some old places of ours. Get Nick, Brian and Steve along too.”

“That’s fine,” said Lyla. “We’re getting tired anyway. We’ll finish up here and go back to the hotel. You and Marshall go out.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. You’ve got to live that rock star lifestyle,” she joked.

Louis rolled his eyes and laughed, kissing her cheek, “thanks.”

Marshall appeared back at the table suddenly and tended his beer, drinking half the bottle in one go. “We’ve gotta go,” he said before drinking the rest of the bottle.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Marshall shrugged, glancing at Lyla, “had a little disagreement.” He held up his hands, the knuckles red from coming into contact with what Lyla assumed was someone’s jaw. “Let’s go.”

Louis drank as much of his beer as he could while they left, leaving it on a nearby table before exiting and ushering his family out in front of him. They walked down the street a little bit to distance themselves from the bar. “Who’re you pickin’ fights with Marshall?” Louis asked as they searched for a couple of cabs.

“Ah, he deserved it,” Marshall said dismissively with a wave of his hand.

“Why’re you startin’ things when my family’s here, Marshall?”

“Ah, come off it, Lou. Here.” He hailed a cab which stopped at the curb. “Night, Lyla. Nephew.”

Lyla kissed Louis goodnight and got into the cab with her sons, leaving the brothers to work out their disagreements on their own.

* * *

Sunday was a long day plagued by sleep deprivation on the part of The Connelly Brothers and rushing against time to get to the airport following their final set. Despite their issues, they managed to make their flight and get home a little after two in the morning. Fortunately, Louis was able to sleep a little on the plane, as were the rest of The Connelly Brothers, so while work would still be agonizing in the morning, at least there would be some mild brain function.

Once off the plane and with luggage collected, Lyla and her family hopped in a cab home. It was rare for Lyla to see the city so late at night. A place like New York, especially in Manhattan, always had something going on. But despite the cars and the people still awake in the late hours, the city was quieter and more peaceful. She liked being in the city and would miss it when they moved into the suburbs. However, it was what would be best for their family. They could have a space just for music; August could have a bigger room and Ben could have a room that wasn’t shared with his parents, which benefited the parents more than Ben. They could have an office for Lyla to mark theory work in and for Louis to complete work for his day job and work with the band if he so chose. They would have actual room to entertain and, hopefully, a large yard for Ben and their future child to play in (and August, if he so chose, and Louis who was really just a big kid when it came to his children). It would be perfect for them even if it was out of the city.

Lyla had dozed off, dreaming of her house and reviewing the houses they had already seen, and making notes to call the realtor and check in. She was gently awoken by Louis’ soft voice and saw that August had already taken the keys and as much luggage as his weary limbs could carry into their building; Louis had Ben passed out in his one arm and started picking up as much as he could carry with his free arm once Lyla was sitting awake. She stumbled out of the car, shivering slightly despite it not being very cold out. “Did you pay already?” she asked softly, grabbing the last bits of luggage from the trunk.

“Yeah,” Louis responded. “We’re good to go. Lead the way.”

She did just that, holding open doors for her husband as he navigated up to their apartment, careful not to wake Ben who would certainly seize the opportunity to stay awake.

In the living room, the luggage August had carried from the cab was abandoned by the sofa and he had disappeared into his room. Louis did the same, as quietly as possible, and went to lay Ben down in his crib. Lyla added the last bags to the pile and would tackle it tomorrow. For now, she locked the door and crept into the bedroom where Louis was already slipping into bed, eager to get a few more hours of sleep before work. She followed suit and fell asleep as soon as she was warm under the covers.


	33. September 2010

_September 2010_

Lyla arrived home after work early in the afternoon on her third Friday working as an instructor at Juilliard. She was enjoying the time out of the house and was starting to get used to the idea of a relative stranger staying with Ben and Mateo. Louis, Lyla, and Maya had interviewed several nannies until they found someone who seemed suitable to care for the two toddlers. Alessia was nice enough and seemed to click well with the cousins and was understanding of both Lyla and Ben’s apparent separation anxieties after having spent so much time in each other’s company for the past year.

On the first full day of work, Lyla had called to check in at every chance she got and was assured that Ben was doing well each time. Louis called her in the afternoon to ask how many times she had called home and Lyla suspected she had received a complaint against her, so took to calling on the preceding days only once despite her anxiety.

Ben had taken time to adjust as well, but the presence of Mateo, who seemed to adjust well to any situation, helped calm him most of the time and by the second week, he was no longer crying for mom or dad when it was time for nap.

Work had been particularly stressful that day for the first time since she started. When she had substitute taught back in Chicago, it was with younger students and they seemed to like her. With students who were young adults, it was quite different and a little more daunting especially since a lot of them were particularly full of themselves. During her office hours, one (adult) student had come in with her mother to complain about the lack of challenge her daughter was facing in such a prestigious school. There was a lot Lyla wanted to say – like how her daughter regularly missed notes on the simplest pieces – but she kept her mouth shut and let the lady complain before assuring her that the first month is always a little slower with first year students. Her classes were also awful in general that morning; she had two theory classes that she had to instruct from notes and the whiteboard as the computer and projector had decided to stop working. Everything was a little slower and she didn’t cover quite as much as she had wanted to. She had started marking the first pieces of work she had assigned, and the students hadn’t seemed to grasp or recall anything from class. By the time she left work, she felt like a complete imposter in way over her head.

At home, neither Ben nor Mateo had slept after lunch as some sort of protest. They had been placed in their respective sleeping areas (Ben in his crib and Mateo in a bassinet in August’s room) but had cried or screamed or shouted for close to an hour before Alessia had thrown in the towel. She apologized profusely as she left, and Lyla told her it was no problem, but she felt like she was going to lose her mind as the cranky toddlers refused everything but coddling the more exhausted they became. This was especially frustrating as Lyla would be attending her fourth rehearsal of the week with the Philharmonics in preparation for the concert series at the end of the month. She was tired and would prefer to hide in the bathtub until Saturday morning.

At four o’clock, both Ben and Mateo were screaming at each other, Lyla, and nothing in particular as she tried to coerce them with animal crackers and television, neither of which interested them much. When the phone rang, she picked it up eagerly, hoping for a reprieve from the chaos. She buzzed Marshall in from downstairs, happy to be rid of one of the monsters for the night.

He walked in a few minutes later, not bothering or needing to knock. “Jesus, what’s happenin’ here?” He asked over the racket, Mateo either not noticing or not caring that his father was there.

“They decided to protest naps,” Lyla explained, standing to get Mateo’s belongings together.

Marshall went over to his son, knelt down, and said, in his low, authoritative tone that he reserved for discipline, “Matty, that’s enough.”

Both toddlers were immediately silent and faced Marshall.

“What’s the meanin’ of this racket?” He said, voice still low and booming.

Mateo’s voice cracked as he said, “dada,” which Ben picked up on. The corners of both mouths turned down and in perfect unison, the cousins began to cry.

Lyla rolled her eyes and handed Mateo’s diaper bag to his dad, “perfect.” She picked up Ben who buried his face in her shoulder.

“Least they’re not screamin’ like banshees no more,” Marshall offered, picking up his own son.

“They’re not screaming,” Lyla agreed, but that’s all she could say for the situation. However, a shaky yawn from Ben was something at least. Maybe she could put him down for a little power nap.

“Thanks for watchin’ him,” Marshall said, checking that he had everything. “See you Monday then.”

Lyla walked the two out and closed the door behind them as Ben’s cries began to soften and his eyes began to close. Not bothering to clean up the mess from crushed animal crackers in his hands and on his face, she lay him down to sleep in his crib before setting about tidying up, including removing the bassinet from her teenage son’s bedroom.

Nearly two hours later, both August and Louis arrived home, the former having a later class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays each week and the latter working overtime. Lyla barely had time to pass Ben off to her husband and say goodbye to all of them before heading to rehearsal, lugging her cello along.

Playing her cello was usually a relaxing activity that allowed any stress to dissipate but that wasn’t the case in this rehearsal. The mental exhaustion from the day had her messing up her parts regularly, which only aided to irritate her more. Luckily, her peers were a good group and were very understanding, especially given that she had played masterfully as usual the night before. At nine o’clock, they ended rehearsal and Lyla went on her way, leaving her cello in storage for the Saturday practice following in the morning.

Without the cello, she was free to walk home, which was only about twenty minutes. She figured the walk would help her wind down a little bit so that she wouldn’t feel so stressed when she got home. Lyla cut through Central Park instead of going around. The paths were lit as the night sky became darker, which happened much earlier now that Fall was underway. She passed numerous people, some jogging, others walking their dogs or walking with their partner. It was like any other night in Central Park, which is why it was so surprising that she was stopped in her tracks.

“Gimme your purse,” a man demanded in a coarse voice before grabbing and pulling her purse, which she held onto tightly.

Her heart was racing as she struggled against the thief. But the struggle was halted with a fist to Lyla’s cheek. She let go of the purse in her shock and the assailant disappeared off the path and into the night. Not really registering what happened, she found her way to a bench and sat down, catching her breath. As she took stock of what had happened, tears began to spill, the stresses of the day seeping out of her.

“Are you okay?” a woman’s voice came a couple of moments later.

Lyla looked up through her tears to see a woman bending down to meet her eyes while a man looked on behind her. Lyla shook her head and brought her hands to her face, continuing to sob. The woman sat down beside her and rubbed her back until Lyla calmed down.

“Are you okay?” the woman asked again.

Lyla took a deep breath through her nose and the woman passed her a tissue, “thank you.” She took a minute to clean herself up. “Sorry, I’ve just had the worst day. And then I was mugged. And he hit me,” she explained, gingerly brushing her finger tips over the forming bruise.

“Oh no!” the woman replied, seeming genuinely concerned. “Is there anyone you can call?”

Lyla stood up and shook her head, “I’m okay. I only live a couple minutes away.”

The couple insisted on walking her home, which Lyla didn’t care enough to protest, and waited while she dialled her apartment to be let in.

“Hello?” Louis’ voice came.

“It’s Lyla,” she responded. “I don’t have my keys.”

“Did you forget them?”

“No, I’ll explain when I’m up.”

Louis buzzed her in without another word and she opened the door, thanking the strangers for their help before letting the door close securely behind her.

She had wanted to creep into her apartment to avoid her family’s prying eyes, but Louis met her in the hallway before she even made it to the apartment. He knew something was wrong. He seemed shocked by her appearance, which caused the floodgates to open once more for sobs. She leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around her; they stood in the hallway with Louis comforting his wife until she stopped crying, and then he held her a little while longer.

Lyla sighed and pulled back from Louis who kissed her forehead before cupping her unharmed cheek, “what happened, mo chroí?”

She shook her head and leaned against Louis’ chest again. “I was mugged,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “And he hit me because I was stupid and didn’t let go.”

“You’re not stupid, you were just fightin’ for what’s yours,” Louis replied, fighting to keep a steady voice despite the instant rage. He wanted to make her feel better about the situation, but mostly he wanted to track down his wife’s attacker and strangle him.

With her face still hidden from Louis’ view, she explained how awful her day had been, with what she now viewed as minor inconveniences compared to a mugging and assault. “I want a bath and I want sleep and I want tomorrow to be better.”

Louis nodded, “we can do all those things.” He led her to their apartment and, with all the stealth they could muster, crept into the master bathroom beneath the notice of Ben, who was sleeping, and August, who had seen them come in but remained in the living room with one motion of his father’s hand. As the bath ran, steaming the room with a mixture of scented oils and soaps, Louis took better inventory of his wife’s injury. It was beginning to bruise and swell but didn’t look like it would be too bad. The man had hit her to shock her, which had worked, but Louis suspected that it would heal fine.

“I’m goin’ to look up the number for the police station so we can make a report,” Louis said as Lyla slipped into the tub. “I’ll be right back.”

Louis snuck through the bedroom and into the living room to use his laptop.

“Is mom okay?” August asked upon seeing his father, eager to know what had happened.

Louis nodded, “she’ll be okay. Some ass mugged her and hit her,” he motioned at his cheek to show where Lyla had been hit while he searched for the local precinct’s number. He picked up the cordless. “She’s in the bath now. We need to make a police report then we’re goin’ to sleep.” He dialled the phone, which began ringing. “Don’t stay up too late, yeah?”

August nodded, though he was still far too concerned (and a little enraged) about his mother for sleep any time soon.

Louis spoke with the police station on speaker phone, sitting on the closed toilet. Lyla described what had happened, where, and at what time. She explained what her purse looked like and everything that was in her purse from her credit cards to her ID to pictures of her sons to her keys. They were advised to cancel all cards and change locks if possible since the assailant had all of her information. The whole event of reporting the crime made her feel even more stressed, but Louis ensured that they had cancelled everything they could and reported the theft to any party that needed to know before letting her relax.

He changed into his pajamas and laid Lyla’s out on the bed as quietly as he could muster, not wanting to wake their toddler, before returning to the master bath with the step stool they used in the kitchen so that he could sit at the edge of the tub with his wife.

“How’re you feelin’?” he asked, kissing her forehead.

“Much more relaxed,” she sighed. “Did you tell August?”

Louis had his hands in Lyla’s hair, twisting and braiding the strands mindlessly, “yeah. Told him you were alright and just wanted sleep. He’ll probably bombard you in the morning with concern.”

Lyla chuckled, “that’s okay. Will you guys walk me to rehearsal in the morning? I don’t want August staying alone with Ben until we get the locks changed.”

“Yeah, of course.” After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry for not meetin’ you tonight.” He felt immense guilt; he shouldn’t have let her walk alone in the dark when it was so easy to meet and walk with her.

Lyla smiled, “it wasn’t your fault, love. I’ve walked home that way at that time before and never had an issue. But I’ll probably force you to walk me everywhere from here on out.”

“I’ll do anything you ask,” Louis assured her.

“Okay. How about you get me my towel, so I can get out of this tub and go to bed?”

Louis chuckled, “sure” and did as requested.

* * *

Lyla returned from work shortly after noon on the Monday following her attack as Mateo and Ben were finishing their lunch. They said their goodbyes to Alessia for the day just as the locksmith arrived to change the door’s locks. While the new locks wouldn’t completely aid in Lyla’s emotional healing from being mugged and hit, it would give her a little more peace of mind. The robber had her address, her and her family’s photographs, and access to her building; it would take a lot more than changed locks for her to feel safe. She wanted to move as soon as possible.

The boys went down for their nap, thankfully without a fight, after the locksmith left. She had two keys but would need a copy for August and, she supposed, another copy for Marshall and Maya as the one they currently had would no longer work. This was evidenced as Marshall arrived to pick up Mateo as usual and ended up banging on the door when his key failed.

She answered the door quickly, not quite wanting Ben to wake from his nap yet. “Is it really necessary to be so loud?” Lyla snapped as she swung the door open.

“Why isn’t my key—Jesus Christ, what happened?” Marshall tilted her chin up so that he could see the bruise a little better. It had darkened considerably, which Lyla thought was just perfect for her upcoming performances.

Lyla closed the door behind Marshall and locked the deadbolt along with the handle and chain, “Louis told you I was mugged.”

“Left out the part about the prick fuckin’ deckin’ you. Y’alright?”

Lyla nodded, “it looks worse than it feels. Mateo went down late for his nap. I had the locksmith over to change the locks before their nap and he was a bit late.”

“That’s fine,” Marshall shrugged. “Locksmith, eh? Really shook you up.”

“He has my ID with my address, and my keys. I’m not going to risk the safety of my family if I don’t have to,” she defended.

Marshall held up his hands, “no need to get testy, just makin’ conversation. Am I gonna get another key?”

Lyla sighed, “I’m sorry, I just feel annoyed and stupid. Yeah, I’ll get some keys made for tomorrow.” She busied herself getting Mateo’s bag ready to go. “Do you both need a key, do you think?”

“Nah, just the one is fine. And the only one that’s stupid is that dick, yeah? ‘Sides, you’ll be moved out into a big old house soon anyway. Matty in August’s room?” He asked, already on his way to his nephew’s bedroom.

Lyla and Louis had spent Sunday looking up houses in their preferred area, bookmarking three or four that really interested them. Sending them to their realtor, they were set to go see them Saturday afternoon. They were hopeful that one of these houses would be their house. Then, at least, they wouldn’t have to worry about someone dangerous knowing where they lived.

Marshall returned a moment later with a sleeping Mateo in his arms, “y’know, Maya took up these boxin’ classes near our place after—” he motioned at Lyla’s eye and she remembered Maya’s face on New Year’s Eve, bruised and bloody. The swelling in her face along with the bruises and cuts took weeks to disappear except for a small distinguishing scar at the end of her left eyebrow. “She could beat me up if she really wanted to now. That’s why I keep on her good side. Maybe you could join her? She goes a few times a week and looks like she has a better handle on things. Looks somehow hotter too. I’ll have her call you later tonight.”

“Oh,” Lyla hadn’t really thought about it. She was a yoga person because it was calming, and occasionally went jogging because Louis enjoyed cardio, but had never thought about doing something that could actually help her defend herself. “I hadn’t really thought about it. But sure. I’ll be at rehearsals until nine though.”

“Do it,” Marshall demanded, slinging Mateo’s bag over his free shoulder, “it’ll make you feel better.”

Lyla smiled and nodded, “okay. Thanks, Marshall.”

“Yeah,” he said before unlocking and opening the door. “See ya.”

Lyla closed and locked the door behind him before cleaning up and getting ready for rehearsal.

  
“Ready?”

“No.”

Maya laughed, “you’ll be fine. It’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

Lyla wasn’t so sure. She and Maya left the locker room; she felt like she was completely out of her element. The people around her seemed to know exactly where to go and what to do.

“Come on,” Maya said, taking Lyla’s wrist. Her semi-sister-in-law was visibly apprehensive. “We’ll get a couple of spots near the back today until you feel comfortable. The instructor is hot though, so we need to get up to the front ASAP. It’s the only reason I keep coming back.”

Lyla laughed, taking her place at a setup next to Maya’s, “the only reason?”

“Maybe not the only reason. But it’s pretty up there.”

Maya was right. The instructor was well-built, as one would expect a boxing instructor to be, but also had golden skin with dark hair and bright green eyes and movie star bone structure that made all the girls swoon.

For several weeks, Maya and Lyla attended the class three times per week, slowly moving up a row at Maya’s urging as Lyla grew more skilled and confident. Lyla enjoyed the time, not just because it made her feel more in control of herself and her safety, but also because she got to spend time with Maya after constantly spending time with her family, which consisted solely of boys.

“Do you want to go for lunch?” Maya asked as they changed out of their workout clothes one Saturday in October.

“Yeah, it’s still early. We’re viewing a couple of open houses this afternoon so as long as I’m home by one, it’ll be okay.”

“You worry too much,” Maya commented.

“I’m not worrying,” Lyla responded, slinging her gym bag over her shoulder. “I just really want to move.”

“Do you still think the mugger is going to track you down?” Maya asked as they left the building. “Guy just wanted cash and credit cards. He’s not going to try and break into your place.”

“You don’t know that. Besides—” Lyla glanced around. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a deli around the corner. Besides what?”

“We need more space. I can’t have Ben in our bedroom anymore.”

“Real mood killer, right?”

Lyla grinned, “yes! And we’re going to start trying for another baby soon. I don’t want to move when I’m pregnant.”

“You’re so lucky.” They rounded the corner and found a busy deli with painted-black bricks.

“What do you mean?” Inside, most of the tables were taken up except for a few with plates of past customers left behind. Lyla and Maya sat down at a round table that was big enough for two people in the middle of the small deli. They tucked their gym bags under the table and began perusing the small pamphlet-like menu.

“I’ve been thinking lately that I want to have another kid too. Someone for Mateo, you know? You were an only child, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t it ever get lonely?”

“It did, but my father wasn’t that great either. You and Marshall are better.”

“And that’s what I was thinking, but once I finish my program and get working – me and Marshall can only do so much. I don’t want him to be lonely. Plus, babies are cute.”

“You told me that you once didn’t even want kids. Now babies are cute?”

“It’s called growth, Lyla,” Maya joked. She shrugged, “things change. But Marshall would never go for it. He’s always ‘money blah money blah’. Old man. Plus, his dick’s not working yet.”

Lyla snorted, “that is information I don’t need to know about my brother-in-law.”

Maya waved her hand dismissively, “when he’s back to normal, I’ll work my voodoo and convince him.”

Lyla shook her head and changed the subject, “what are you going to get?”

* * *

Maya returned home after her post-workout lunch feeling excellent. Since beginning her boxing classes, she felt a lot stronger compared to regular workout sessions, and a lot more kick-ass than she had felt before. If any asshole tried to mess with her again, she liked to think that she wouldn’t need anyone to run in and protect her any longer.

Marshall was conked out on the couch, the TV playing some baseball game. She assumed Mateo was down for his nap, prompting his father to follow suit.

Maya dropped her gym bag purposefully on the floor. Evidently, Marshall was in a light sleep as he jumped with the sound. “Hey,” he grunted.

“Mateo napping?” she asked, slipping her flats off.

“Yeah, down maybe…” he checked the time “… ten minutes.”

“Good.” She unzipped her jacket and dropped it on her bag.

“Can’t hang it up?” Marshall complained, but Maya had a familiar look in her eyes. “Stop,” he groaned.

“What? I’m just checking in.” In a fluid motion, Maya removed her knitted sweater and let it drop to the floor.

“No use. He’s still dead.” She unbuttoned her skinny jeans and wiggled out of them. “Y’know I hate it when you do this.” Maya had recently taken to putting on a strip tease whenever the opportunity presented itself in the hopes of sparking some action. All it really managed to do was spark sexual frustration in her target.

But she continued, figuring it was only a matter of time before it paid off. She sauntered towards him and knelt on the couch, straddling Marshall’s lap. Her lips traced his neck before she whispered in his ear, “one day soon, you’ll be back, and you’ll be happy I’m here.”

Marshall ran his hands over her honey-brown breasts, the summer tan lines mismatching her bra straps and fading into obscurity, “I already am.” He kissed the space between her breasts and gently pushed her back, “now fuck off.”

Maya laughed, “rude.” But she stood and collected her clothes before hanging her jacket and collecting her gym bag, all the while feeling Marshall following her with his eyes. “I’m going to take a shower. What time are you and the band meeting up?”

“Three. You and Matty comin’?”

“Definitely wouldn’t miss it.” If he was going to make a fool of himself, she wanted to capture it on camera to torture him with later.

“You just want to see Aaron.”

Then there was that. Maya simply smiled and shrugged.

“Might not even be there,” Marshall called after her.

“He will,” she replied before closing the bathroom door behind her.

 


	34. October 2010

_October 2010_

The Connelly Brothers were to begin recording their second studio album in a couple weeks’ time and had to go through the whole album art process again, which meant photographs that were mostly awkward and unnecessary. While they had gained popularity since their first album, they weren’t exactly a force to be reckoned with, at least not in their eyes. They didn’t think anyone would care if there were photographs of them or not. But their record label did not agree.

“I have great news,” exclaimed Aaron York as the band arrived at the warehouse, various family members in tow.

“We’re throwin’ the whole idea of a photoshoot out the window?” suggested Brian.

“And let people miss out on those beautiful mugs? Absolutely not. No, your online presence is huge right now. People are sharing pictures and videos of your performances on their own social media pages, you have thousands of followers on all platforms, specifically from Europe and South-East Asia for some reason, and I have a friend who wants to use one of your songs in their film. It’s a small indie piece, but there’s a lot of buzz around it and could mean further growth of your fanbase, which equates to more sales. We’re going to send them lyrics for your new music and early demos of whatever songs they’re interested in. Louis, you’ve got them on you?”

“Hang on,” Marshall cut in. “We don’t even know anythin’ about the film. What makes you think we’ll hand it all over without knowin’ what it’s about?”

Aaron sighed. Marshall was always the one to argue even the most minute thing. “Well, Marshall, the final decision rests with me regardless, but I’ll send you some plot points she gave me at the end of the day. The other thing,” he continued before Marshall could say anything else, “is that because of your following overseas, I’m wondering what you’d say to an eight-month tour in Europe and Asia with some other bands on the label.”

“Eight months?” Louis repeated, glancing at Lyla who was sitting to the side with the other family members. Whatever she thought, he couldn’t read her expression.

“Yes,” Aaron confirmed. “You and a couple of our other popular bands would travel all around, not as openers, but as shared headliners. Places with a smaller following will use smaller venues, but that will only be for a select few places. There are some festivals we’ll get you in on as well. Sell your merch, grow your following, and, best of all, get paid.”

“Most of us’d have to leave our day jobs, so how much are you talkin’?” asked Steve.

“Details still need to be ironed out, but as an act, including the other bands, you’d take home eighty percent of ticket sales – not sure if it will be two or three bands including you yet – and a ninety percent of any merch sales, the rest going to the venue. At least, that’s what I’ll be offering them.”

“What are the projected profits?” asked Marshall, the self-promoted manager.

“I can’t get solid numbers to you yet. I just got out of the meeting where we discussed this, so we still have to do some number-crunching. But I think it’ll make it worth your while. Besides that, the label will cover costs of travel within the tour time – to each new country and venue. Any additional travel on your off days will be out of your own pocket. I’ll give you time to think about it but saying no would be a mistake. I’m going to leave you in the photographer’s hands and I’ll get numbers to you by the end of the week.”

Aaron bid the band goodbye and made his way out of the warehouse. As the photographer began discussing his plan with the band, Maya left Mateo with Lyla and determinedly followed after Aaron York. She liked flirting shamelessly with him, though he was either oblivious, uninterested, or good at keeping things professional. He wasn’t even someone she’d usually go for. But he made good money and it had been awhile since she’d gone out with someone who had the means of taking her to nice places.

“Aaron!” she called out as he opened the door to leave.

“What, Maya?” he groaned, knowing who it was without looking.

Maya laughed, “are you really that uninterested?”

“I don’t make it a point of doing anything with my clients’ wives.”

“Me and Marshall aren’t married and we both see different people. There’s nothing to worry about with us.”

“Fine, then I don’t make it a point of doing anything with women like you.”

Maya crossed her arms, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a girl who everyone’s had a turn on. I don’t need the risk.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not for all the money in the world,” Aaron retorted before promptly opening the door and exiting.

“Prick,” she muttered, resisting the urge to scream obscenities after him. Instead, she returned to the main area of the warehouse where the band was awkwardly posing with their instruments, pretending to play and creating promotional materials for their upcoming album.

“Mama!” Mateo shrieked, running from Lyla’s grasp towards his mother.

“Shh, mijo!” Maya whispered loudly, picking her son up and resting him on her hip. She watched the spectacle for a moment and laughed, “why don’t they actually play something?” she said to Lyla. “They look ridiculous.”

Lyla shook her head, “I don’t know.”

Maya took the opportunity to shout her suggestion across the room. Lyla wondered how Mateo could possibly follow his mother’s request for quiet when both of his parents were capable of so much volume.

“Oi! Keep it down over there!” Marshall shouted back.

But the photographer evidently liked the idea and instructed the band to play different songs until he got what he wanted. Then he sent all but Brian for a brief break so that he could do individual shoots.

“Any luck?” Marshall asked, taking his place beside Maya and Mateo.

“No,” Maya replied miserably. “He’s got a stick so far up his—”

“I could’ve told you that,” Marshall interrupted. Mateo was beginning to copy everything that came out of their mouths, so they now tried to limit the vulgarities they threw about. “What about that one over there?” He pointed at one of the photographer’s assistants.

The assistant was handsome and definitely Maya’s type. She shrugged, “I haven’t had any in so long though, I’ll take anything at this point. Do you think he’d be willing?”

“For you? Of course.”

“Hold your child,” she said, passing Mateo to his father. “I’m going to see what I can get.”

Marshall and Mateo joined the others sitting off to the side.

“What’s Maya doin’?” asked Louis, Ben reaching out to his cousin. Louis and Marshall set them down so they could do whatever toddlers do together.

“Makin’ friends,” said Marshall. “She tried to… make friends with Aaron and he rejected her. Now she’s on a mission.”

Everyone seemed to watch Maya as she walked over towards the blonde assistant, interested in seeing her methods, but her body seemed to tense upon hearing something and she instead stood statue-still, fists clenched.

“Uh oh,” Marshall murmured, standing.

“What?” Louis asked.

“Just keep an eye on Mateo, yeah?” he said, walking determinedly towards Maya, then began jogging over to her as she began screaming insults at the assistants.

“You’re the fucking talentless ones, you prick,” Maya shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re a fucking photographer’s assistant. You don’t even have enough talent to take your own pictures. Fucking Facebook photographers have more talent than you.”

The blonde assistant said something inaudible and Maya flew at him, any boxing training replaced by slaps and scratches. It didn’t last too long though; Marshall wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back as she continued shouting expletives.

“My!” Marshall boomed as Maya struggled. She took a deep breath and stood fuming. Marshall didn’t let go.

“Get that fucking spic whore out of here,” the blonde assistant spat, a scratch on his neck.

“You watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Marshall retorted, feeling the urge to attack the man as well.

“Marshall!” Louis called. “Let it go.”

Marshall pushed and dragged Maya until she walked with him of her own accord. They left through one of the warehouse doors into the sun, the crisp autumn air negating the sun’s power.

“You need to fuckin’ calm down,” Marshall demanded once they were away from everyone else.

“If you heard the shit they were saying…” she began before her voice cracked and her eyes began to fill with tears. “They were such assholes.”

“What’d they say?”

Maya shrugged, “it doesn’t matter. They were talking shit about you and the band and our family and I just lost it. Who the fuck do they think they are? Like… you’re paying them and they’re just freely saying shit?”

“My,” Marshall said, sitting next to her on a concrete ledge. “Don’t do stupid shit for my sake. Or anyone else’s. Those guys are pricks. Just leave it at that.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Marshall draped his jacket over her shivering frame, “what do you want to do?”

“I’m going home. If I see that guy again, I’m going to lose my mind. Can you bring me my stuff? And Mateo.”

Marshall nodded and returned to the warehouse where another shouting match had broken out. Lyla and Emily were off to the side with August and the toddlers while the band was evidently arguing with the photographer and his assistants. “What happened?” he asked Lyla, taking Mateo from her lap.

Lyla rolled her eyes, clearly done with the whole situation, “just a bunch of slurs and insults being thrown around. Nothing’s getting resolved.”

Marshall slung Maya’s purse onto his arm and grabbed her jacket before making his way over to the ensuing chaos. “Right,” he bellowed in his disciplinarian voice, “we’re all goin’ to leave now.” He pointed to the photographer, “you can explain the situation to Aaron because we’re done with it.”

“If your whore of a girl would’ve just kept-“

“Shut your mouth before I break your jaw,” Marshall threatened. “Your fu—your men need to keep—no.” He shook his head. There was a lot that Marshall wanted to say and do, but he had Mateo in his arms soaking it all in. “I’m goin’ home. I’ll talk to Aaron tomorrow.” He didn’t say another word or listen to what anyone else had to say. Instead, he walked to where Maya was waiting so that the three of them could go home.

* * *

Maya sat on the floor with several plastic laundry bags of clothes that had been sitting since the night before after the weekly trip to the laundromat that had turned into a biweekly trip with the busy schedules of the household’s adults. Surrounding her was a circle of clothes in various piles belonging to either herself, Marshall, or Mateo. It was an intricate system organized by clothing type and frequency of use. Then there was a pile of mismatched socks that would be left to Marshall because Maya lacked the patience.

“Pizza tonight?” Marshall asked, carrying a toweled Mateo to the living room couch.

“Yeah,” Maya agreed. “I’m leaving the socks for you.”

“Course you are. I’ll put the order in after we get Matty to bed.”

“No bed!” Mateo shouted, adamantly and suddenly against his parents’ plans. “No, no, no!” he screamed, squirming out of his towel and making it exceedingly difficult to diaper him.

“Way to go,” Maya joked as Marshall struggled.

“Y’know, you could help instead of makin’ fun.” He changed his voice’s tone and boomed, “Matty, enough,” which promptly sent the toddler into tears.

“Why do you always have to make him cry?” Maya demanded, storming towards them.

“If you’d get off your fuckin’ ass once in awhile to help, I wouldn’t have to.”

“We’re not supposed to swear in front of Mateo anymore! And I’m doing your laundry!” She leaned over Mateo and kissed him aggressively on the forehead, “goodnight, mijo. See you in the morning,” and stormed off to her room, kicking over Marshall’s piles of laundry as she went.

“Your mother’s fuckin’ mad, Matty,” Marshall muttered, still struggling to secure his son’s diaper.

“No mad!” Mateo screamed in as shrill a voice as he could muster. “No!”

“Right,” Marshall boomed, “you keep that up and you’re not gettin’ a story before bed.”

“Yes!” he shrieked. “No bed!” Mateo was completely unaccommodating, and Marshall was losing his patience very fast.

With Mateo’s diaper secure, Marshall picked up the squirming toddler. “Yes bed, Matty. No story tonight.” He placed Mateo in his crib, turned on the underwater nightlight in the darkened room, and closed the door behind him. Mateo’s shrill screamed pierced through the wooden door, a full-on tantrum taking hold.

Marshall stormed towards the entrance of Maya’s room. “My, I’m goin’ to pick up some beer. Text me anythin’ else you need. Order the pizza.”

When Marshall returned half an hour later, the lights were dimmed, the clothes were off of the floor, and Mateo was quiet. Marshall set the case of beer on the kitchen table along with the grocery bag of snacks requested by Maya.

“Hey,” she said as she exited the bathroom. “What movie do you want to watch? Pizza should be here in fifteen.”

“I don’t know. Comedy?” Marshall opened two beers and handed one to Maya as he took his seat next to her on the sofa. “How many stories’d you read Matty?”

Maya laughed, “two. They were short ones though!”

Marshall rolled his eyes and took a long sip of his beer, watching while Maya browsed for a decent quality film, all frustration and anger from their argument entirely gone. She was fiercely protective of her friends and family, and Marshall admired her for that. Her plans for the evening hadn’t panned out at all how she wanted, but she seemed just as happy to stay in. He placed his hand on her thigh, “d’you still have an itch that needs scratchin’?”

Maya looked at him, confusion clear on her face, “what?”

“Are you still horny?” He clarified.

“Oh. Why don’t you just say that then? You Irish are so weird. And yes, if we weren’t doing this, I’d be upstairs taking care of business.”

Marshall placed his beer on the coffee table, caught Maya’s eye, and put a coaster under his beer. “I might be dead from the waist down, but I can still help you out.”

“Is that right?” Maya said coyly, placing the remote on the table and sliding down the sofa so that she was on her back. “Show me.”

Marshall leaned over her, kissing her neck and running his hands under her shirt before promptly pulling it over her head and kissing the skin beneath. She arched her back slightly so that she could unclasp and remove her bra, and Marshall was immediately working on her breasts, kissing, licking, and biting, before tracing his way down her navel and stopping at her pelvis to remove her leggings and thong. He ran his hands up the length of her golden toned legs, taking in the soft perfection. There was so much that Marshall wanted to do to her, but he had to settle for using only his tongue and fingers. He pulled her further down the couch and began working his tongue expertly as Maya sighed and encouraged him with soft moans.

Maya’s one hand grasped Marshall’s arm, his hands cradling her hips as he worked, while her other hand ran over her body, unsure of where to rest and unable to do so even if she knew. She draped her legs over Marshall’s shoulders and writhed her pelvis beneath his tongue, louder moans and whispers of his name escaping uncontrolled from her lips as the ecstasy built.

He began to work upwards towards her breasts, kissing and licking the contours of her stomach, much to Maya’s protest, until he was level with her nipples, sucking and nibbling a moment before plunging his fingers into her with little warning. He received a muted and surprised moan as Maya’s hands ran through his hair and over his neck, uncontrolled.

“Shirt,” she breathed. “Off.”

He paused to remove his shirt before continuing. She liked the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers and enjoyed being able to dig her fingernails into something bare.

Marshall worked his hand roughly, feeling the textures inside of her. Her pulsating body clenched and unclenched around his fingers as he worked his thumb purposefully, causing her body to go rigid before the oncoming eruption. Repetitions of “Marshall” and “fuck” escaped Maya’s lips, each time a little louder than the last until she reached her limit and screamed.

He laughed and covered her mouth with his free hand, “shh!” but continued working as she convulsed and writhed without control until a second wave hit her and she was screaming again, this time following it up with a bite of his hand. He withdrew his fingers and ran his hands along her waist until he was holding her and kissing her neck again.

She did the same, sucking on his neck and running her hands over his back, wanting to hold him even closer than he already was. “I love you,” she sighed, and her heart stopped. What was she doing? They weren’t those kinds of people.

Marshall pulled away from her and stared into her eyes, seeming to loom as he said, “yeah?”

Figuring she was too far in it now, she nodded with as much faux confidence as she could muster.

Marshall kissed her neck once more before saying, “I love you too.”

Her heart started again, this time filled with unbridled affection and the unbelievable knowledge that he felt the way she did.

He sat back and ran his hand from her neck to her navel. “How’re you feelin’ now?”

“Better,” she assured him, feeling absolutely relaxed as the shocks wore off. Marshall stood and walked towards the kitchen. Maya glanced over to the coffee table where her phone was blinking with missed messages. “Pizza!” she announced. “He tried calling a few times. Forgot to put the ringer on.”

“I got it,” he said, drying his hands before lightly jogging to the door and down the stairs to thank the pizza man and tip him generously.

When he returned to the apartment, Maya was nowhere to be seen. He placed the pizza, along with a bunch of other things Maya had ordered, on the kitchen table and got out a couple of plates as Maya exited Mateo’s room. “I woke him up,” she laughed, her once-discarded shirt now the only thing she was wearing. “Why are you going to dirty plates? Just bring everything to the coffee table. I plan on being a fat ass tonight.”

“Forgot we aren’t human beings,” he joked before returning the plates to the cupboard and bringing as much as he could carry to the coffee table.

With everything eventually set up – the pizza, beer, chicken wings, garlic bread, snacks, soda, and blankets – Maya and Marshall sat down together to watch a bunch of blockbuster comedies with stupid jokes until they fell asleep, bloated and more or less satisfied.

* * *

Lyla finished washing up and dabbed her face dry before methodically applying her moisturizer. Then she gave herself a once over in the mirror. She had been off birth control for the past three months, using condoms instead, which is where she wanted to be before she and Louis began trying for their next child. And despite being a bit of a rocky day, arguing about things that shouldn’t really concern them, she wanted to surprise Louis (in as stealthy a way as possible, still stuck with Ben in their room). She put on her lingerie from their anniversary, aiming to ignite more than a regular interest in her.

However, when she opened the bathroom door, Louis was snoring softly into the pillow, only halfway undressed.

Lyla smiled and crept over to the crib to check that Ben was sleeping deeply. He rarely woke up so late in the night, which is why the usually left ‘alone time’ for a later hour, but she wanted to be sure. Satisfied that he’d sleep until morning, she took her bottle of jojoba oil from the bathroom drawer and climbed onto the bed. She straddled her half-naked husband’s back before squeezing a little bit of the oil into her palms and methodically rubbing it into his exposed skin.

It took a moment of careful and deliberate massage before she felt him stir beneath her, the muscles in his back contracting as he stretched. He turned his head to the side so that he could catch a glimpse of his wife from the corner of his eye. “What’re you doin’?” he asked, voice heavy with sleep.

Lyla flipped her hair over one shoulder so that she could lean over him unhindered and kiss his neck slowly.

“Hmm,” he sighed.

She slid her hands up his back to his shoulders. “It’s been three months since I stopped taking birth control. I want to start trying.”

“Hmm. I don’t know if you’re aware, my love, but this isn’t how you make a kid.”

Lyla smiled, “yes, but it feels good, doesn’t it?”

“That is does,” he chuckled. “But you’re goin’ to put me back to sleep.”

Lyla ran her hands along his sides, causing a sharp intake of breath. “I won’t let that happen,” she said. She kissed the back of his neck, following his hairline to his ear, which she nibbled gently, continuing the circular motion of her hands on his back and shoulders until he wanted more and shifted beneath her.

Louis turned over so that he could see his wife better. She was wearing the negligee from their anniversary – a piece that he particularly liked – and looked the picture of a goddess. He placed his hands on the sides of her face and pulled her towards him, relishing in the minty taste of her mouth. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered before kissing her again. He ran his hands up her back and unclasped her bra. In one swift movement, her cover-up and bra were tossed on the floor. And while Lyla traced his skin with her teeth, he wriggled out of his already-unbuttoned jeans, kicking them off until they joined her clothes on the floor. “Lyla,” he whispered, his lips against her skin. “I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you.” Lyla pushed his hair back and drew him into a kiss backed by her passion for him. She pulled back a moment so that she could guide him inside of her. They both sighed for the sensation no longer muted by the need for a rubber barrier and began moving with one another’s rhythm.

Louis arranged the pillows to prop his head up so that he could better reach his wife. As she rode him, his hands gripped her hips, willing her forward with every thrust, while his lips connected with hers as she leaned close over him. The change of position hit something electric in Lyla, resulting in a louder-than-expected moan. She paused but Louis urged her onward, mad with lust and wanting.

“Louis,” she gasped as he tormented her with pleasure.

He took charge and switched places so that he was on top and could determinedly send her over the edge. Her hands found their way to Louis’ head where she pulled what hair she could clutch between her fingers. Her head was thrown back as Louis delved into her, kissing and sucking and biting at the skin on her neck and chest.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her, moaning and sighing and gasping all the while. He groaned in response, feeling the ecstasy build with every movement and every sound. They held on to each other as lifelines, moving rhythmically with one another, thrust after thrust, until they were holding back screams of a pleasure long-awaited.

Louis held his position for a moment before softly kissing Lyla’s lips and exposed skin and lying down next to her.

“So much better,” Lyla breathed, her hands feeling unsteady as she held them above her.

“Agreed,” he said and they both laughed softly. After they calmed themselves, Louis rolled on his side and propped his head up on his hand. “Sorry about earlier.”

Lyla shook her head, “I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to argue about.”

“Figure we should keep any arguments to personal problems ‘stead of others’.”

Lyla chuckled, “I was thinking the same thing.” Louis smiled and twisted a strand of Lyla’s hair between his fingers. “I love you so much,” she whispered after some silence had passed.

Louis responded with an adoring kiss before the two readied themselves for sleep.

 


	35. December 2010

_December 2010_

A recent blizzard had left a crisp layer of white sparkling snow over sidewalks and streets. Outside of Manhattan, homes looked like they belonged on the front of a Christmas card wishing its recipients a wonderful holiday season and a bright, happy new year. Lyla and Louis Connelly’s new home was one such house.

They had viewed their home in the middle of November and the process moved much quicker than they had anticipated; they found themselves in a new home before Christmas.

It was exactly what they were looking for, previously owned by an older couple who had raised their own children there but wanted to sell everything to go and travel. They accepted Lyla and Louis’ offer because they fit their idea of who they wanted to live in their home (and the cash payment didn’t hurt) and they were willing to move right away. It was a chaotic few weeks relying on the kindness of their friends to help move them in.

The previous owners had spent the last few years updating and renovating the house as a sort of passion project, so while it still had its old character and charm, almost everything was updated, which allowed the couple to sell it for a little bit more. They also left the Connellys a lot of belongings that their kids hadn’t wanted – odd pieces of furniture, Christmas décor that had already been painstakingly put up for the holidays, and some household and garden products that would come in handy in the near future.

Outside, the house’s yard was covered in snow that blended with the white siding on the home and garage to the left, and it contrasted with the dark faux shutters and bright red door dressed with a wreath. Christmas lights bordered the eaves and created a feeling of home before one even stepped inside.

Inside, visitors were met with beautiful walnut floors running throughout the hallway, kitchen, living and dining rooms, and up the stairs to the second floor. Immediately right to the front door, a large cream living room looked out onto the front street and connected to a good-sized office separated by white French doors. Immediately left of the front door, and before reaching the stairs, there was an archway entrance to a formal dining room with cream walls and large windows, both matching the design of the living room. Through the dining room, direct access to the kitchen was found through a larger archway. The kitchen itself was updated with high-end finishes and appliances, and an aesthetically pleasing mixture of white, cream, and glass.

Another arch lead back to the hallway, across which was a small half bath and the back foyer, which led to a decently-sized backyard and the finished basement below their home in which there was a recreation area, two additional bedrooms, a full bathroom, a laundry area, and storage. On the main floor and up the stairs, Louis and Lyla’s bedroom was to the right with a great big master bathroom and main bathroom dividing them from two smaller bedrooms, one that would belong to Ben, and the other, hopefully, to their not-yet-existent child, August preferring the large basement space to be his own. It had everything that Louis and Lyla had wanted in a home and then some.

Having moved in so close to Christmas, they decided to forgo their blooming tradition of hosting dinner and instead visited Rochester to spend Christmas with her father. It was their first time visiting Thomas Novacek since he had moved in over two years prior. Whenever there was a get-together, he would always drive into Manhattan and was very good about it, but they figured they could make the effort for once (though it was Louis’ suggestion rather than Lyla’s).

On Christmas Eve, rather early in the morning, Lyla, Louis, August, and Ben made their way to Rochester using a car her father had insisted on sending, not wanting them to spend their money on a cab or rental. They pulled up to his home shortly after noon and Lyla was surprised to see how normal it appeared. The area was still very affluent, but he had managed to settle for a smaller home that didn’t show off his wealth quite so much as the other homes in the area. That being said, it was still a lot nicer than any house most people could afford.

The family collected their belongings from the car and trudged from the front drive to the door where Thomas was already waiting. He opened the door as soon as Lyla touched the first step and welcomed them in. While his face held its usual sternness that Lyla knew so well, she could sense the excitement he felt at finally having his family visit his home.

“How was the drive?” he asked, taking hold of the bags in Lyla’s hands while they all shed their winterwear.

“A lot of people going home for the holidays,” Lyla replied, hanging her jacket before doing the same for Louis and August, “but it was a more or less uneventful ride.”

“Good, good. Well,” he motioned for the four of them to follow him, “let me give you a tour of the place.”

“It smells good,” August commented.

Thomas nodded his agreement, “yes, I hired a chef that comes highly-recommended by some of the neighbours.” He caught Lyla’s disapproving eye and explained, “if I tried cooking a Christmas dinner, we would end up with nothing.”

Lyla figured that was fair enough; she couldn’t recall a time her father ever made a meal for the two of them from scratch – at least not anything that could be considered complex. She knew where she got her own cooking skills from.

Thomas showed his family around his new home. While it was only one floor, it was still quite nice and spacious, a large, open concept living, dining, and cooking space. Beyond, there was a sunroom looking out over the snow-covered deck and grassy area. It hosted two bedrooms and bathrooms along with a laundry room and storage on the main floor along with a finished basement with a bar and another full bathroom. It was very nice, and Lyla thought it was a good size for entertaining, though she wasn’t sure how much entertaining he had actually done since moving into the place. She felt unwelcome guilt for not visiting sooner but kept these thoughts to herself.

“I know, Lyla, you’re used to the Christmas Eve parties I’d usually throw back in Chicago, but I thought a quieter occasion with just family would be more apt. Did you eat this morning? I have some light snacks we could have. Maybe we could watch a movie? Dinner won’t be ready for a couple of hours yet.”

Lyla was a bit surprised by the suggestion, never having ever sat and watched anything on a screen with her father, but nodded, “that would be really nice. We only had a quick breakfast this morning before we left.”

Thomas seemed pleased at the prospect and began suggesting a few classic Christmas films that were at his disposal. They agreed to watch It’s a Wonderful Life as it was the longest and would certainly lead up into their dinner.

Their afternoon meal was every bit as delicious as it smelled, and the family ate happily together, trading conversation. Lyla’s father even took a particular interest in Louis, asking him about work and his music, and trading stories about his own childhood, laidback and happy. He seemed genuinely pleased to have Lyla, her husband and her children at his home at Christmas. Lyla felt like she was seeing him in a different light altogether.

Once daylight disappeared and the stars came out, they all bundled up and went for a walk around the neighbourhood to see the Christmas lights, which blew other neighbourhoods’ Christmas lights out of the water. The night itself was cold and crisp, the clear sky failing to insulate the Earth from the cool air, and the snow acting as a dampener to all sounds but the crunch of their winter boots.

Walking around a curve in the road, blinded by the white lights hanging on the eaves and decorating the yard of one big house, August tried and failed to make a snowball, the cold snow falling apart as ice crystals between his gloved fingers. But that didn’t stop him. Instead, he collected as much snow as he could between his two cupped hands, snuck up behind Louis who was busy pointing out the lights to a mesmerized Benjamin, and let the crystals fall over his father’s head. Louis gasped, stunned still as the snow snuck into his jacket and down his neck; Ben giggled at his father’s expression and squealed with delight as Louis chased down August and body-checked him into the foot-deep snow.

Lyla laughed as the three of them ran up ahead, throwing snow at each other and falling or being pushed into soft piles of fluff. She glanced at her father walking next to her in order to gauge his reaction and was happy to see him smiling at the scene instead of scowling.

“You know, it took me awhile to warm up to Louis,” Thomas admitted. “But he seems to be a good man – a good husband and father.”

Lyla was bewildered by the compliment. “Is everything okay?”

Thomas furrowed his brow in confusion, “of course. Why do you ask?”

“You seem different – more happy and easy-going… and accepting.”

“You’re my family and I’m happy to have you here,” he explained, appropriately defensive. “Much better than being with all of your friends who are, frankly, too loud and obnoxious.”

No doubt, Louis’ brother came to Thomas’ mind when he thought of their ‘loud and obnoxious’ friends. Marshall (and the rest of the band) had that effect on most people.

Lyla smiled. “I’m happy we decided to come. It’s beautiful out here. Do you like it better than Chicago?”

Thomas thought for a moment. “I miss Chicago and the people I know there. Rochester is nice.”

Lyla wasn’t sure if that was a yes or no, though it sure sounded like the latter. “I’m sorry we haven’t come out sooner,” she offered.

Thomas shook his head, “no, I understand why. All I can ask is that we see each other more than just on holidays.”

Lyla nodded, “we can do that.” The reason for her hating her father and being miserable with his presence had seemed to fade with time. She hated not knowing baby August, but she knew him so well now and their family was so complete, it seemed wrong to keep punishing her father for his mistake that he had apologized for multiple times.

Up ahead, Louis had fallen into a snowbank for the Nth time, this time remaining down. August picked Ben up and Lyla’s brain immediately went into panic mode. She jogged forward, leaving her father to catch up on his own.

“Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah. It’s just… my back,” Louis groaned as Lyla kneeled next to him. Then, in one sudden motion, he pulled her completely into the snow with one hand before smushing a gloveful of snow into her face with the other.

She squealed, then blinked and gasped before tossing as much snow as she could at him, mostly resulting in a greater downfall of snow over herself, seeping under the front of her jacket. Lyla sputtered and sat up as Louis and August doubled over in laughter, falling into the snow, while Ben giggled in August’s arms.

Lyla managed to pull herself to her feet and brush what little snow she could off of her jacket. “Christmas is cancelled,” she declared while her husband and eldest son struggled to catch their breath.

Louis staggered to his feet and stumbled over to Lyla, still gasping through bouts of laughter, and enveloped her in a big hug. He snickered as he wiped her face with the bit of his scarf that was tucked inside his jacket safe from the snow. Then he kissed her forehead before retrieving Ben from August’s arms and leading the march back to his father-in-law’s home in all joviality.

Later that night, Louis lay in the spare bedroom’s double bed with his arms wrapped around his wife, his youngest son in a small cot on the floor. His eldest son was given the run of the living room, sleeping on a couch made up with sheets and blankets; his father-in-law was fast asleep next door. Louis could hear Lyla’s breaths becoming slower and deeper, and felt the tension in her body releasing bit by bit as she succumbed to sleep. Inexplicably, he felt wide awake.

Usually, his wife’s even breaths would serve as the necessary white noise needed to lull him to sleep, but not this time. Maybe it was the excitement of Christmas or being in a strange place or the fear that would sneak up on him every time he would think about the upcoming tour that he had begrudgingly agreed to, meaning that he would have to quit his secure salaried job with benefits and leave his family for three quarters of a year. His insomnia was most probably due to this concern. He had been worried ever since the tour was agreed upon. They had just bought a house. Sure, they had savings, but things could happen. Unplanned things. And how on Earth could he be away from Lyla and his children for eight months? It seemed an impossibility.

Certain that Lyla had now fallen into a deep sleep, he slid away from her and out of bed. Anxiety was building up in his chest and he thought he either needed to get up and do something or he was going to scream. He didn’t want to wake anyone up.

Louis grabbed his laptop from his bag, quietly opened the bedroom door, and crept into the dining room with a stop in the living room to check on August who was passed out as the television flashed some movie in his face. He paused to turn the TV off before setting himself up at the dining room table. Maybe if he took a look at everything again – all of the money coming in and going out, he could feel a little more secure and catch up on the sleep he had missed for the past two weeks.

He opened their budget spreadsheet along with a blank sheet and began inputting numbers and preparing for the absolute worse possible financial outcomes that could plague them. The money they made on the tour depended solely on sales. They were beginning to market as much as possible to their fans through social media and subway posters and in any other way they could think of, but if people didn’t buy tickets or merchandise, or if they didn’t buy enough, the trip wouldn’t be anywhere near as lucrative as necessary. It might not add up even if they sold out of everything. Then he would return home and have to find a job again at a different firm and start at the bottom for the third time in his career. Louis rubbed his eyes and rest his face in his hand, sighing deeply.

“Is everything okay?”

Louis’ head shot up and he looked to his father-in-law who was standing at the kitchen-dining room entrance with a mug in hand. He turned back to the laptop and minimized the windows, “yeah. Yeah, everythin’s good. Just can’t sleep.”

Thomas set his mug on the kitchen’s small island and filled the electric kettle up with tap water before turning it on. “Do you want anything? Tea? Water?”

Louis shook his head, “no,” but then changed his mind, “uh, actually, I’ll just have some hot water.” He thought that the warmth might relax him.

“This tea,” Thomas motioned, “works as a sleep-aid. It doesn’t taste half bad.”

“Sure, okay,” Louis agreed. “Thanks.” He still felt a little unsure around his father-in-law. When he was with Lyla or August or had some sort of other buffer, it was okay, but being in the room with him one-on-one was more than a little intimidating. He knew how Thomas had felt about him.

After the kettle clicked off, Thomas poured two cups of steaming water and dropped a tea bag in both. He set one cup next to Louis who thanked him and then took a seat a couple of chairs down. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“Oh y’know…” Louis searched for an explanation that was at least half-true. “Stresses of work I suppose.”

Thomas nodded but it was clear that he didn’t quite believe his son-in-law. “Do you like your career?”

Louis nodded, “I do. I’ve always been good with numbers and people. It gets to me sometimes, but I do like it.”

“Compared to your music?”

He thought a moment, “I don’t know that it’s fair to compare the two. The firm let’s me workout the logic side and the music lets me work out the creative side.”

“If you went into music full-time and left your job, how would you satisfy the part of you that thrives with logic?”

Thomas’ stern demeanour left Louis feeling like he was in a job interview. He took a sip of his hot tea, which was unexpectedly comforting. “I’m not sure.”

Thomas was quiet for a moment, sipping his tea and seeming to contemplate something before speaking. “I didn’t like you for a long time,” he began.

Louis stared wordlessly into his tea. That wasn’t news to him, but it still stung to hear it said.

“I thought very little of you when I found out about Lyla’s pregnancy with August. Over a decade later, when she said she was going to marry you, I disapproved but knew I wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it. To me, you were someone in it for the money and didn’t have the means to give Lyla the life she deserved. But as I got to know August and I got to know you as a husband and father, I realized that my assumptions were likely wrong. I now know they were, and I want to apologize. Especially because I have a sneaking suspicion that I wouldn’t be in your lives if it weren’t for you urging Lyla to allow me in. She wouldn’t have come to the decision on her own, anyway.” Thomas took another sip of his tea. “This tour that you’ve agreed to go on could bring a lot of happiness in your life. You don’t need to worry about finances. You won’t need it, but I will help if you do. You’ll come out of it fine. And then you’ll know if you value spending more time on logic or creativity.” Louis began to respond but Thomas held up his hand. He didn’t want thanks or corrections or explanations. “I’m off to bed. Finish the tea. It works.” He stood, said goodnight, and went back to his room with his tea in hand.

Louis was glad that Thomas had cut him off because he wasn’t really sure what he would have said. He had never heard Thomas say so much in one sitting and he had absolutely never complimented or shown affection to his daughter’s husband before then; Louis doubted he’d ever experience it again, so was left feeling a bit dumbfounded. But he did what he was told and finished his tea before closing the laptop and returning to bed for sleep, which, due to the tea or the acceptance, came much quicker than before.

* * *

In lieu of the regular Christmas festivities that the Connellys usually threw, they decided to throw a New Year’s Eve Party that would double as their housewarming. To Louis’ amusement, this meant that Lyla was stressing over the mismatched furniture that they hadn’t yet been able to get rid of.

“It doesn’t matter, love. You know the types of people we kick around with. They’re not even gonna see the furniture.” He had never seen her so stressed over something so insignificant.

“We won’t just have roadies and bands,” she countered. “Besides, it would still matter even if it was. It looks awful.”

“It doesn’t look as bad as you think it does.” But she was inconsolable and kept arranging and rearranging to hide the imperfections she saw or instructing Louis to do the same.

Eventually, she threw her hands up in the air and groaned in disgust. “I give up. People are going to be here soon. I should’ve done this earlier.”

Louis shook his head and wrapped his arms around her middle, “I’ll go put Ben down. You go have some wine and relax. I promise no one will even notice.”

She wanted to argue, knowing that she was in fact correct about it looking terrible and knowing that people would absolutely notice, but she decided an argument over something that Louis had no interest in anyway was a waste of breath. Lyla nodded and touched Louis’ lips with her own before finding and pouring herself a glass of red wine.

Marshall and Maya were the first to arrive, wanting to get Mateo down with Ben before others started arriving and catching his eye.

“Gonna get fucked up tonight?” Marshall joked, popping the cap off of his beer once Mateo was in bed.

“We’re too old for that,” Lyla responded.

“Speak for yourself,” Maya said as she poured a little too much gin and not enough tonic into her glass.

Lyla rolled her eyes, “I guess it’s good we don’t have our furniture yet.”

“Ah, darlin’, let loose a bit or you’ll go crazy. Where’s Lou and the nephew at?”

“I think August’s in his room and Louis ran out to get some last-minute things.” Lyla poured herself another glass of wine.

“Kid needs a girl before he rubs himself raw.”

“What?” Lyla exclaimed, “no, stop, I—” She covered her eyes and felt her face turn red. The wine wasn’t helping.

Marshall shrugged but was clearly amused by Lyla’s reaction while Maya snickered into her gin and tonic. “What do you think he’s doin’ spendin’ so much time in his room?”

“You and Louis are the exact same,” she replied after another gulp of wine. “There are some things a mother doesn’t need to know…. Or want to know.”

“Hey, just be glad I got to him before you started gettin’ a bunch of stiff socks in the wash.”

Lyla wrinkled her nose. “You what?” Then she held her hand up, “actually, I don’t want to know. I want this conversation to be over. Maya, how’s school?”

Marshall laughed and stood back as the girls caught up. But he was relieved when Louis returned, if only so he didn’t have to hear about the new hair care routine that was making Maya’s hair so shiny and soft.

Soon, others began to arrive, music was put on, and the house became crowded with people. The regular people in The Connelly Brothers’ social circle were there – other bands and their partners or groupies and friends – along with friends of friends and coworkers and people from around the neighbourhood. Lyla was relieved to have such a large turn out despite deciding the party fairly close to New Year’s Eve. The clean up would be Hell, but at least no one would be able to see the mismatching furniture.

After checking on Ben and Mateo, and ensuring that Marshall wasn’t feeding August any drinks, Lyla sat down at the old apartment’s kitchen table with Maya and Emily and some other women as was usually done at parties. They were laughing at some story Maya was telling, the alcohol making it seem funnier than it actually was, when something caught Lyla’s already-unfocused eye through the dining room archway leading into the living room, causing her to halt mid-sentence.

“What is it?” Emily asked, trying to follow Lyla’s eyes with her own.

Something must have shown on Lyla’s face because the others’ moods changed as well, and they exchanged confused glances with one another.

Lyla stood from the table so that she could get a better look at who she saw enter her house. Her suspicions confirmed, she muttered “what the fuck!”

Maya joined Lyla immediately, intrigued by her sudden use of a curse word, “what’s wrong?”

“What the fuck is she doing in my house?” She downed the rest of her glass of wine, which had still been half full of red.

“Who?”

“That red-headed slut with the dead eyes,” Lyla spat, motioning to the scantily clad woman with intense blue eyes who was clearly high on something.

“I’m really enjoying this version of you,” Maya commented, pouring more wine into her friend’s glass, “but what’s wro—” Before she could finish, Lyla stormed into the living room, causing some of the wine to fall on to the hardwood beneath, and approached the woman. Maya followed closely behind.

“Get out of my house,” Lyla demanded as soon as she was within earshot of the girl.

The red head turned around, saw Lyla, and laughed obnoxiously. “Fuck off.”

“Get out of my house,” repeated Lyla. “No one invited you.”

“I invited her,” said a man that Lyla only vaguely recognized in her wine haze.

“Well I didn’t invite you either,” Lyla retorted. “You can get out too.”

“Louis invited us,” he said. “You have a problem, take it up with him.”

Lyla stuttered, trying to think of something to say that wasn’t what she had already repeated. The red head laughed and the two of them walked towards the kitchen. Instead of speaking, Lyla resorted to drinking most of the refilled wine in her glass.

“Who’s that?” Maya asked, eyeing Lyla as the wine began to take effect almost immediately.

“Her name’s Sophie and she’s a bitch. She wants Louis.” Lyla looked like she was about to cry.

“Okay, let’s get you back into the dining room,” Maya said, guiding the increasingly unsteady Lyla back to her chair. As much as she liked seeing different versions of Lyla, this one was a little to rough for her liking, the wine seeming to dissolve most of Lyla’s usual reservations about making a scene. “You ladies make sure Lyla stays here. I’ll be right back.” Maya left Lyla and went searching for Marshall or Louis or someone else competent and strong to solve the issue. She found Marshall sitting with some of his music friends on Lyla and Louis’ back deck smoking, the alcohol and drug keeping them from feeling the cold. “Marshall!” she called, waving him into the house.

He joined her a few seconds later, “what’s up?”

“There’s this girl here who’s driving Lyla crazy. It’s actually hilarious.” She composed herself, “but I think this bitch needs to leave. And you need to make her because they’re not listening to Lyla. And Lyla is pretty much wasted and swore and called the girl a slut.”

Marshall laughed, “Lyla did? Who’s the girl?”

“Some red head. Lyla said Sophie?”

“Dave’s sister? What does Lyla know ‘bout her? She tried hittin’ on Lou when we were tourin’ but I thought that was it. Where is she?”

Maya didn’t need to answer; Lyla’s uncharacteristically loud voice came from the kitchen, telling Sophie to leave once more. They rushed to the kitchen to see an angry Lyla shouting in Sophie’s face while the red head mocked her and laughed. Dave tried to pull Lyla away from his sister, but Marshall wasn’t having any of it.

“Hands off, Dave. Lyla, chill the fuck out.” He stepped in and pulled Lyla away from Sophie even as she struggled against him. “I think you both should leave. Or at least you,” he turned to Sophie as he spoke. “She doesn’t want you here and it’s her house.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, “she just knows that if Louis were left alone with me, he’d make it worth his while.”

He guffawed, “darlin’, you’re delusional if you think Louie’d ever give you even a second glance. It’s time to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she smirked, leaning against the counter and drinking her own glass of wine.

“Dave?” Marshall tried appealing to the fellow musician. “Please, man.”

Dave seemed to think for a moment but decided to keep things more pleasant. It might have been because of the onlookers. “Soph, let’s just go somewhere else.”

She refused and crossed her arms.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a child,” Marshall exclaimed. “Where the fuck is Louis?”

“Downstairs,” someone said.

“Well, get him up here. Dave, you’re gonna have her out within five minutes or I’ll be carryin’ her out myself.”

“You know what, Marshall? Don’t even think about touching my sister or it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“Dave, fuck off, yeah? I’m twice your size,” Marshall countered. “My, take Lyla somewhere.”

“I’m not leaving,” Lyla slurred, “until she’s gone.”

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “Lyla, I take it back. You don’t need to let loose. Put the wine down.”

“Screw you,” she replied, taking another sip from her glass.

“What’s goin’ on?” Louis entered the kitchen, glancing from Lyla to Marshall to Sophie. “What’re you doin’ in our house?”

“I wanted to see you again,” Sophie replied in as seductive a voice as she could manage.

“Dave, I invited you, not her,” Louis said, trying his best to ignore the flirting highlighted by Lyla’s rage. “You’re gonna have to leave. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Lyla exclaimed. “Why on Earth are you sorry? She’s a slut who takes pleasure in messing with people. She’s a fucking psychopath and you’re sorry?”

“Lyla!” Louis responded, holding a hand up. “Dave, Sophie, go.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, “oh my God, fine. She’s not worth ruining my New Year’s Eve. I’m going.” She slid her jacket on over her sequin dress and added, “I’ll see you again,” before making her way through the throngs of people, Dave following shortly after, leaving a brief apology behind.

With the entertainment gone, the audience dispersed and resumed whatever they had been doing prior to the argument.

“What the fuck was that all about, Louie?” Marshall asked, completely befuddled.

“Don’t worry about it, Marshall. Lyla, upstairs,” Louis said, taking Lyla by the arm and leading her towards the stairs.

“No!” she pulled away from him.

“Lyla.” He held both of her shoulders and looked into her unfocused eyes, “I left August downstairs, but he’ll come up in a few moments guaranteed. You want him to see you this way? Move.”

Lyla figured he was right but didn’t let him touch her even as she stumbled up the stairs while Louis spotted behind her.

“You need to sleep off the wine,” Louis said once they were in their bedroom with the door closed. “Why are you causin’ such a scene?”

“Why was she even here?!” Lyla shouted. “How is this woman still in your life? Oh, maybe it’s because you haven’t told her to fuck off!”

“Lyla, stop. You know I’ve made it perfectly clear that—”

“What? That you have a wife? Like that’s going to stop her? You haven’t told her to stop. Though I don’t actually know how often you see her so maybe you have.”

“The last time I saw her was when I was with you. You know I have no interest in her, but you’re right. I haven’t explicitly told her to stop. Have only hinted. I’m sorry.”

“And that’s another thing!” Lyla continued despite Louis hoping they would have reached some resolution. Clearly wine-drunk Lyla was the confrontational type. “Why were you apologizing when you told them to leave? It’s our house. They should be the ones apologizing!”

“Lyla…” He was tired. He had experienced drunk Lyla, but not angry-drunk Lyla.

“What?!” Her voice was a lot more shrill than it had ever been before, “I have every right to—” She suddenly got a strange look on her face, glanced at Louis, and then ran to the toilet, which was soon filled with red wine and various other contents. Louis crouched next to her, holding her hair back. Downstairs, he could hear their guests shouting ‘Happy New Year!’ to one another.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured to the retching sounds of his wife as he tied her hair back.

The party continued on past midnight, ringing in the New Year with good booze, good people, and good music. Louis and Lyla didn’t return.

* * *

 

Maya checked on Mateo and Ben while Marshall joined August at some drinking card game (though August was under strict instructions to stick with non-alcoholic beverages), then she worked her way around between the guests, hoping to find someone interested in her. It didn’t take long before she was up against some well-dressed man named Kevin in the corner of the back foyer, sucking on his neck whilst being freely groped. She took his hand and led him through the crowd, fully intent on taking him into the unfurnished spare bedroom upstairs until a blonde came at her screaming like a harpy about trying to steal her man. There was a lot Maya wanted to say – how he didn’t tell her he was taken or how she pretty much already had him – but instead she threw her hands up in the air and walked away, allowing them to work things out on their own.

She made her way into the basement where there was a small group of people, including Marshall, August, and Brian playing some card game. Maya kneeled next to Marshall, running her hand over his back, “meet me in that storage area in five minutes,” she whispered before heading down the hall under the guise of checking on her child.

Maya sat on the large freezer, waiting for Marshall. They were relying on each other a lot more lately for satisfaction – though Maya more than Marshall at this point in his healing process. It was just easier. Plus, he was really good at what he did. And Maya loved him, though it was still a strange thing for both of them to openly admit, even if it was just to each other.

The storage area was where the finished basement ended. There wasn’t much back there yet – mostly furniture that Lyla absolutely could not stand – but it would be a place for Christmas decorations and old baby clothes and whatever else. It was where the large freezer was along with the washer and dryer as well as the breaker. The carpet and drywall ended at the door so that the entire area consisted of cold concrete, wood, and exposed wiring and insulation. Not exactly an area made for romance. But Maya didn’t really need romance.

Marshall arrived a few minutes later, “what happened to trying to find someone new?” he asked, closing the storage room door behind him.

“I did,” she said, sliding the spaghetti straps of her dress down her shoulders and unclasping her strapless bra to reveal her breasts, “but then I found out he had a girlfriend when she started screeching at me.”

Marshall chuckled and stood close to her, “so, you find me to get you off?”

“You know it’s more than that,” she whispered into his ear, kissing his neck intermittently. “Besides,” she reached down to his jeans and began unbuttoning them, “I need to keep checking in.”

He pulled back from her and ran his hands under her dress so that he could remove her panties, which he set on the freezer top next to her discarded bra. But she closed her legs and hopped off of the freezer. “What are you doin’?” he asked.

“You need to let me at least try,” she said, going to her knees and working at his jeans once more.

“Maya, stop,” he said, holding her wrists firmly and joining her on the concrete floor before bringing his lips to her chest.

She pushed him away and fixed her dress so that she was covered up again, “you can’t keep avoiding it.”

“Christ, I’m not avoidin’ anythin’,” he complained, running his hand through his hair. “I’ll fuckin’ know if I can get it up again before you do. I don’t like you constantly tryin’ to fix the problem. You can’t fuckin’ fix it.” He buttoned his jeans and leaned back against the freezer on the cold floor.

Maya started to speak but sighed instead. She scooted next to Marshall, gasping when the cold floor touched her thighs, and leaned against the freezer in the same way. “I’m not trying to fix anything,” she said finally.

“You don’t think I want to fuck again? It’s frustratin’, feelin’ the urge and not bein’ able to really do anythin’ about it, y’know? I don’t need you comin’ in and makin’ me feel worse about it.”

She felt like she could start crying, though alcohol might be a contributing factor, “I didn’t mean to.”

He patted her thigh and rested his hand there, “I know.” They sat together silently until Maya started to feel the cold chill of the basement.

“Do you ever think you’d want another kid?” she asked suddenly.

It seemed to catch Marshall off-guard. “Is that somethin’ you’re thinkin’ about?”

She shrugged, “I look at you and Louis, and think about me and Ed growing up, and just wonder if Mateo’s going to be lonely.”

“He has Ben,” Marshall countered. The idea of another child frankly terrified him.

“Let’s be real. Look at this place. Ben and Mateo are cousins, but they’re from different worlds. He needs someone like him. I think.”

“I don’t know, My,” he groaned. “We don’t have the money now with the tour comin’ up—”

“After the tour,” she interrupted. “When I graduate and get a job or once you see how much you’re going to make off the tour.”

“We’d have to get a new place again—”

“Not for awhile. The baby can stay in my room until we decide where to go from there. Mateo can’t stay in his small room for the rest of his life anyway.”

Marshall shook his head, “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll take it,” she replied. “Now I need to get out of this room. My nipples could cut glass.”

Marshall moved his hand between her legs, “I could still warm you up.”

She agreed so long as she could sit on the freezer instead of the floor and felt immediately warmer as Marshall worked his tongue between her thighs.

* * *

Lyla woke up to the world spinning. Her head ached, and her mouth had an awful taste in it; she felt dehydrated from the inside out. Opening her eyes, she found herself on the floor of the master bathroom with a pillow under her head and the duvet from her bed on top of her.

She sat up slowly, hoping that the dizziness she felt would not turn into more vomiting. There wasn’t much she remembered but being doubled over the toilet was fresh in her mind. She stood up unsteadily and ran the tap on the sink so that she could drink some water and immediately brush her teeth. Taking stock of her smudged makeup, she washed her face as well so that while she still felt haggard, she no longer looked it. Not completely, anyway.

Lyla shuffled into the bedroom where Louis was passed out face first in their bed, a throw blanket covering him. She dragged the duvet to the bed a threw it over him before changing into fresh clothes and daring to venture outside of their bedroom.

From the second floor, everything seemed unaffected. She peeked in the bathroom; the toilet paper was a little askew and she had to flush the toilet because someone else had obviously been sick, but it was otherwise unscathed. Ben’s door, which she had closed before the party, was still closed and untouched as she quickly peered inside. The spare bedroom had a couple of people sleeping on the floor with anything they could find – jackets, towels, throws – as blankets and pillows.

Down the stairs, there were some other sleepers along with some empty bottles, cans, and cups, but nothing seemed too terrible. In the dining room, someone was doubled over the table, sleeping on their arms. In the kitchen, the island and countertops were covered with bottles, cans, cups, foods, and spills. She made her way down the hall, past the bathroom, into the foyer and down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible when she encountered a sleeping body. She was surprised by the number of people who had decided to crash.

In the basement, she recognized Nick and Emily sleeping in one corner, Brian and some girl in another corner. She went to August’s room and peeked in; he was fast asleep under his covers and she hoped that he had listened to her about drinking. In the next room over, she went to check on Ben and Mateo. Inside, though, Marshall and Maya were asleep on the floor with a couple of Ben’s blankets draped over them. Lyla hadn’t realized how loud Marshall snored and wondered how the toddlers (and Maya) were sleeping through it. She looked into Ben’s crib and saw that he was wide awake but blissfully playing with some toy dinosaurs, which he immediately dropped upon seeing his mom.

She grinned wide and whispered, “good morning, sunshine” before taking him in her arms. Prior to leaving, she looked in on Mateo who was still passed out, a snorer in the making with his loud breaths; he was sprawled out just like his father on the floor and she had to smile at the similarities.

Outside of the bedroom, she set him down to waddle behind her as she found the box of frozen waffles in the freezer to bring upstairs for those who had stayed over. He followed her to the stairs and embarked on the climb up as she followed slowly behind him. At the top, he ran ahead of her so that she had to slide the box of waffles across the floor and into the kitchen in order to keep up with him as he began climbing the next set of stairs.

“Mornin’,” Louis’ tired voice came from the top of the stairs, pushing Ben into overdrive as he tried to get to his father faster. “Hiya Benny.” Once the toddler reached the top of the stairs, he was in Louis’ arms, hugging tightly. “How does it look down there?” he asked Lyla who followed him into Ben’s room.

Lyla sat in the rocking chair while Louis changed Ben’s diaper, “it doesn’t look too bad. A lot of people though. I’m going to make breakfast for anyone who wants.”

“Feelin’ okay then?”

She shook her head and then winced, “no. I feel dizzy and like I’m going to throw up and my head’s killing me. But a greasy breakfast might help.”

Louis nodded and finished up, “if you do the breakfast, I’ll do the clean up.”

By the time the house was free of old bottles, cans, cups, and whatever other trash there might’ve been, breakfast was ready and those who were sleeping scattered around the house were woken and lured by the smell of bacon, sausage, eggs, hashbrowns, and waffles.

Ben sat happily in his high chair eating eggs and hashbrown and waffles (not being a fan of sausage or bacon for some unfathomable reason) while the others gathered around the table taking what they wanted. Lyla had bought more than she thought she would need just so that she was prepared; this was good since she ended up cooking all of it. She also put out some cereal and toast for anyone who came late to the feast.

By noon, everyone had left, and the house was back in order. On the living room sofa, Louis was stretched out on his side, spooning Lyla with his arms wrapped around her and a light throw blanket over the top of them. Neither party was feeling much up to doing anything beyond a lazy day on the couch; their brains wouldn’t allow the comprehension of activity even if they did want to do something more. The TV played a Sunday movie, the volume low, while Ben napped nearby in his playpen and August hid away in the basement.

Louis began dozing off when he was startled awake by Lyla’s quiet and hoarse voice.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Louis cleared his throat, an unintentional reflex that tried and failed to mask the fact that he was near sleep, “I’m surprised you remember anythin’.”

“Well… I don’t. Not really. I remember the red-head—”

Louis snorted, “is that what we’re calling her now?”

Lyla ignored him, “and I remember you telling me to get a grip. So, I’m sorry for whatever happened. Also, for throwing up.”

He chuckled at the last addition, “throwin’ up didn’t affect me too much. I left you on the floor and went to bed.”

“Well, thanks for the pillow and duvet. At least I woke up by the toilet in comfort. What happened?”

Louis sighed, “I’d invited Dave, not really thinkin’ about So—the red-head.” Lyla smiled for his correction, “and he brought her. You were a coupla bottles in, I’m sure—”

“I’d be dead if that were the case.”

“Even so, I guess you saw her and started swearin’ at her and whatever else—I was downstairs at the time so just know what Maya and Marshall told me today. Maya was real impressed.”

“That can’t be good.”

“When I was upstairs, you were tellin’ Marshall off and callin’ ‘her’ a psychopath until we convinced them to leave. Then I forced you to bed, we argued, you vomited, and it was the new year.”

Lyla laughed, “don’t ever give me wine again. I’m not going to be able to face my coworkers again. How humiliating. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, love,” he kissed the back of her head and whispered, “besides, it’s kinda hot to have you fightin’ over me.”

She laughed and turned so that she was able to hide her face against his chest. They didn’t say anything else.

To the low sounds of something very dramatic happening on television, Louis and Lyla dozed off, hoping to recover from their massive hangovers by dinnertime.

 


	36. March 2011

_March 2011_

“Negative,” Lyla stated in a soft monotone before throwing the stick into the sink. She planted herself firmly on the closed toilet and held her face in her propped-up hands.

Louis gingerly took the stick to examine for himself; the line indicating pregnancy was noticeably absent. He threw it in the bathroom trash can, “don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ll get there.”

They had been trying for their next and final child since November but weren’t having any luck. It had been so easy for them to conceive Ben and even easier to conceive August. Even the child they had miscarried had been conceived without much thought. But this time, there was nothing. They had tried casually for a couple of months until Lyla decided to start keep track of ovulation dates to increase their chances. Still, nothing happened.

“I am worried though,” she murmured, her voice thick with frustration. “It’s stressing me out.”

“I know you are, but I don’t know why. Stressin’ can’t help.”

“I know that,” she snapped before taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just… you’re going to be gone for eight months and if nothing happens before then, we’ll have to wait that much longer. And I’ll be that much older.”

“You’re not old—” he started.

“Maybe not in the grand scheme of things, but I’m almost thirty-five! What if I just can’t have children anymore? Maybe I’ve hit my limit. I’m too old to have kids!” She threw her face into her hands once more.

Louis kneeled in front of her and pulled her wrists down, “you’re not too old. And even if you were, so what?”

“So what?!” she exclaimed. “You were the one who brought it up – the little girl in your dreams who looked just like me. If I can’t give that to you…” she trailed off, feeling completely defeated.

He brought her hands to his lips, “mo chroí. I would love to have a daughter, but not if it means your misery. I would choose your happiness over everythin’ else. Always. We don’t have to keep tryin’. Maybe that’s the issue. We didn’t really ‘try’ with August or Ben. It always just sort of happened.”

“But we did do that at first and it didn’t work. And I want a daughter too. I have too many boys in my life.”

Louis chuckled, “that’s true enough. But maybe we just have to be happy with what we’ve got and relax about the whole thing.”

“I can’t,” she shook her head. “I want to see the doctor to make sure everything’s still… working. If he tells me I’m still capable of having kids, then maybe I can relax a bit more. Until then, I’d just be worrying and wondering.”

Louis nodded, “okay, then we can do that. I’ll get checked out too.”

“It’s not you,” argued Lyla. She was sure she was the issue. It was always about the woman’s biological clock, wasn’t it? Men could always have children at an old age, while women were constantly told their time was running out.

“It’s not you either,” Louis countered. “You make the appointment, he’ll tell us that we’re fine, and then we’ll have a date night, yeah?”

“And if he tells us something is wrong?”

“We’ll have our date night somewhere with a lot of liquor, and we’ll wallow.”

Lyla grinned, “deal.”

The following week, Lyla managed to get herself and Louis in to see a doctor only to find out that Louis was absolutely right. There was nothing wrong.

“You’re both healthy and still have time to have another child,” the doctor concluded. “I’d take another look at the cycle you’re following. It might be worth throwing it out the window if you’re worrying too much about it.”

Lyla sighed, and Louis grinned, “isn’t that what I said?”

She rolled her eyes and begrudgingly admitted that he had been right.

* * *

Marshall woke up in the darkness of his bedroom to a familiar and now frustrating urge. It had been nearly ten months since his cancer surgery and he still hadn’t fully healed. He knew there were cases where function never fully returned and some where it would take several years, but he had believed that he would bounce back more quickly. It was starting to seem like that was not the case.

He relied solely on Maya for the past months, too self-conscious (in an unexpected twist of fate) to seek out any other women and had been even more giving than he had been pre-surgery just to release even the smallest amount of sexual frustration. He liked that she loved him and cared for him and never showed even the slightest annoyance at his inability to perform. It kept him from retreating completely into himself.

She had fallen asleep next to him as they watched TV in his bed but had since disappeared. Sometimes she’d stay the night, others she’d crawl back to her room, wanting space to herself. They were both exceedingly grateful for having their own rooms.

It was good that she wasn’t there just now, he thought, because he’d want some satisfaction, and if she saw him working at himself in the slow and measured way he had to in order to achieve even a small amount of release, she’d want to try and help, and that seemed a mortifying prospect. Mortification was another new sensation that he had to get used to in the past months.

But, much to his surprise and immense relief, he seemed to be back in working order. He sat up and withdrew his blanket to examine himself and make certain that he wasn’t just imagining things – a phantom pain as it were. Once confirmed, he felt the excitement emanating from him and thought of Maya. He’d need a woman to commemorate the occasion.

Not bothering to get dressed, he and Maya having thrown modesty out the window ages ago, he left his room and climbed up into hers. She was peacefully asleep in her bed, the soft-glow fairy lights twinkling above her bed.

He carefully pulled her duvet from on top of her and let it fall to the floor before climbing onto the bed and slowly using his fingers to wake her with pleasure. It worked easily enough. She sighed deeply, opened her eyes to see who the source was and then stretched.

“Hi,” she said, her voice and eyes heavy with sleep.

He kissed her belly button. “Guess what?” he asked as he kissed her skin roughly leading up to her neck.

“Hm?” she breathed with the continued movement of his fingers.

He kissed her jaw and whispered, “I’m workin’ again.”

“What?” she asked, still half-asleep and confused.

“My dick,” he clarified.

“Huh?” she took a moment to process the information and then her eyes sprung open. “Oh!” Marshall laughed as Maya pushed him back to verify his claim. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed, grinning widely and hugging him before pushing him onto the bed so that she could be on top, take control, and give back.

* * *

“How does it feel?” Maya asked once they were lying still and relaxed on Maya’s bed.

“Fuckin’ great,” Marshall laughed. “It better not be a one-time thing either.”

“Agreed.”

Marshall made to head back to his room.

“You don’t want to stay?”

Marshall sat back down, “I thought you left earlier ‘cause you wanted to sleep alone.”

“Oh,” she said, “no. I got a phone call.”

“In the middle of the night?” Marshall laid back on the bed, grabbing the duvet from the floor as he did and draping it over them. “From who?”

“My brother,” she answered and suddenly broke into tears.

Marshall leaned away from her so that he could check that she was actually crying. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, took a couple of gulps of air, and cried, “my abuela died.”

“Shit,” he wrapped an arm around her, “when?”

“Just before he called apparently,” she said between sobs. “They were all at the hospital saying goodbye to her and didn’t bother to tell me! I didn’t even know she was sick! Fucking assholes.”

He rubbed her arm, trying to comfort her, though felt completely awkward, and let her cry herself out. When she sounded like she was calming down, he asked, “did he tell you when the funeral’d be?”

She nodded, “Wednesday. I want to go, but I don’t know how I’m going to face them.”

“I’ll take the day off work. Me and Mateo’ll come and be back up.”

“Really?” Marshall had only ever missed work for the birth of Mateo and for his surgery, though the latter was done begrudgingly. A funeral of someone he hadn’t even known seemed like something not worth his while. But then he wasn’t missing work for Maya’s grandmother.

“Yeah. We’ll go in, you can say your goodbyes, and I’ll fuck up anyone who starts shit.”

Maya laughed a lot harder than she would if she hadn’t just been crying. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That would really mean a lot.”

* * *

Maya clutched Mateo as she entered the church with Marshall at her side. She felt like everyone was staring at her because, to be fair, most people were. Undoubtedly, her mother had told every one of her family members that she had a child out of wedlock and how it wasn’t with a man she would have approved of. Her family was able to turn a blind eye at the fact that she was with various sexual partners (not that she advertised the fact), but as soon as she found what appeared to be stability, they chastised her. The only relief she got was when she moved away from her parents and into Marshall’s apartment.

He placed his hand on her back and urged her forward between the pews. Marshall hadn’t stepped foot in a real Catholic church since his mother was still alive; this one was much more ornate and Spanish-influenced than the one he was forced to attend in Ireland. People stared at the trio and whispered as they passed by, heading towards the front with the rest of the immediate family.

Maya froze in her steps as she saw her mother, father, and brother with her grandfather in the very front. Her brother was the first to notice her and sheepishly approached her. “Eduardo,” she uttered with a complete lack of confidence.

“Maya,” he replied, cautiously pulling her into a hug before pulling back and examining his nephew. “This is Mateo?” Maya nodded. “Hello, Mateo. Hablas Español?”

“Sí,” squeaked Mateo before burying his face in his mom’s hair.

“Good. That might make it easier.” He meant introducing Marshall and Mateo to their parents.

Maya forced a smile, “and this is Marshall, Mateo’s dad.”

Marshall shook Eduardo’s hand.

Ed nodded, “he looks a lot like you. Come.” He motioned for Maya and her family to follow him and he led them towards their parents and grandfather who were all looking down their nose at Maya’s presence.

“Why are you here?” Mateo Sr. asked when Maya was close enough and before anything else could be said.

“To say goodbye to abuela. Why didn’t you tell me she was sick?”

“Don’t start acting concerned now, Maya. You had plenty of opportunity to talk to your family,” her mother said.

“How am I supposed to talk when you don’t answer my calls?” Maya exclaimed a little too loudly. Marshall placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her.

“Did you try coming to the house?” her mother retorted. “No. You stay in Manhattan with your Irish lover and your bastard son.”

“I don’t know you, woman, but watch what you’re sayin’ ‘bout my son.”

It was Maya’s turn to settle her partner and she placed her hand on his arm. “Mama, why would I come home when all I get is hate? You are missing out on your grandson’s life because you are too hot-headed and too stubborn!”

“If you—"

“Mama,” Ed cut in. “This isn’t the time or the place. Let’s sit down and say goodbye to abuela properly. You can rip each other apart later.”

Their mother sniffed, indicating that they weren’t finished with their conversation, and sat at the end of the pew followed by Mateo Sr., his father, and Eduardo next to whom Maya sat, holding her son close, with Marshall closing up the row.

As the service began, Maya started to cry silent tears. Not only for her abuela who she felt so much guilt for, but also her family’s rejection of her. What was so wrong that they couldn’t accept her? They hadn’t cared about her easygoing attitude towards sex, so why was starting a family, even if it wasn’t after marriage, and settling down such a deal-breaker?

Maya’s father stood after various other speakers to tell stories of his mother. He made a pointed effort to leave Maya out of any of the stories. Even with the death of family, Mateo Sr. and his wife still held contempt for their only daughter.

After the funeral service, food and drink were provided in the strangely modern basement of the church. Marshall didn’t understand why Maya’s parents were so against her being with an Irishman when the extended family was so much like the Irish were after a funeral. He didn’t think they were as different as the family had made them seem.

“How you holdin’ up?” he asked Maya as they took a seat at a small table in the corner.

“Not good,” she admitted. “Can you get some food?”

The last thing Marshall wanted to do was face Maya’s family alone, but he had said that he’d be there to support her and that’s what he’d do. No one gave him trouble as he filled up a couple of plates with finger foods, but they all gave him strange or disapproving looks until he returned to his family.

Ed was sitting at the table, talking to Maya who was crying again.

“Is everythin’ alright?” he asked, ready to cause a scene if necessary.

Maya nodded, “yes. Ed was just filling me in. Abuela had a stroke a few months back and never recovered. I just wish I had known.”

“You shouldn’t have left. Not the way you did,” Eduardo said.

“What was I supposed to do?” she replied. “Everyone, including you, was constantly making me feel like sh—dirt.” She didn’t need Mateo picking up any foul language. He seemed to know which words were the ones he shouldn’t be saying. “Marshall offered me somewhere I could feel wanted and safe. Why wouldn’t I choose that?”

Her brother shook his head, “it wasn’t the right choice. You made everything worse. If you had stayed, they would have got used to the idea. But you leaving made up their minds.”

“Hey,” Marshall cut in. “It’s not her fault that you guys have warped ideas of how she should be. She’s told me some wild stories about you that your parents’d probably be thrilled to hear about, yeah? None of this is on her.”

“Marshall…”

Marshall set the food down on the table and took Mateo from Maya’s lap in a huff. “I’m goin’ for a walk.” He left Maya to deal with her family alone and walked back up to the church to wander the ornate aisles with his son. As he did so, he felt a small amount of guilt; he promised that he would stick by her side as she reunited with her family. But he also thought that if he hung around, he’d let his temper get the best of him.

He walked along the walls of the church with Mateo, showing him the stained glass and frankly unsettling statues, which his son seemed strangely fascinated by. Marshall was surprised by how well-behaved Mateo had been through the long service. He must’ve sensed the sombreness of the occasion and acted accordingly, feeding Marshall’s pride for his son.

“What d’you say, Matty? Should we go see mama?”

“I walk by myself!” he replied in his characteristically haughty way.

“Sure, man,” Marshall agreed, placing his son on the ground who walked proudly back towards the stairs and screeched when Marshall tried to hold his hand going down. He was determined to hold the railing and descend on his own.

As they neared the bottom at a snail’s pace, distinct shouts could be heard from the room where everyone was gathered. Marshall scooped Mateo up despite the younger’s screeching protests and hurried back to Maya.

At their table, she was closed in by her mother and aunts and cousins as verbal abuse in incomprehensible Spanish flew her way. Her face was red and wet with tears as she shouted back as good as she got.

Mateo, upon seeing his distressed mother, stopped screeching at his father and started shouting “stop” at the mob who ignored him. But they couldn’t ignore Marshall’s booming “oi!” that echoed through the small space. “Back the fuck off!” he demanded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Maya’s father spat at Marshall. “You’re just a reminder of how my only daughter whored herself out so that she could be a lazy leech for the rest of her life. Her abuela would have hated for her to be here.” He shook his head, “you have both turned this send-off for my mother into a circus.”

“We did that?” Marshall replied, incredulous. “It wasn’t, I don’t know, the assholes shoutin’ and hollerin’ at her and puttin’ her down when all she wanted to do was say goodbye to her grandma? You’re fuckin’ kiddin’.”

“Bad!” Mateo added.

Marshall shrugged, “the two-year-old gets it. Maya, you done?”

Maya nodded, said something hateful in Spanish judging by her relatives’ response, and stormed after Marshall. Once they were up the stairs and away from the rest of her family, Maya’s angry resolve dissipated, and she was left with wallowing tears. She sat down in one of the pews and sobbed.

Mateo struggled out of Marshall’s arms until he was on the pew next to his mother hugging her and trying his best to make her feel better. Marshall simply rested his hand on her shoulder until she cried herself dry after several minutes. When she was done, she stood up silently, hanging her purse on her shoulder and resting Mateo on her hip, and led the way out without a word.

* * *

“I don’t want you to go,” Lyla said suddenly.

Louis kissed the top of her head. He knew that. He didn’t want to go either. But it had been decided.

“It’s too long,” she added. In a little over a month, Louis and the rest of The Connelly Brothers would be heading overseas for their first real tour. Louis had given in his notice at work and was training his replacement, and everything seemed to be changing rather suddenly.

“I’ll come back at the beginnin’ of August when we have a couple weeks off,” Louis assured her, knowing that if he started voicing his agreements, he’d convince himself to stay. “Or you can come visit me.”

Lyla shook her head and buried her face in their pillows. She had spent a lot of time trying to appear positive and supportive, but when they were alone following her quiet birthday celebration, she had immediately needed to tell him. Of course, he already knew how she felt. “This sucks,” she complained, her voice muffled by the pillows. She turned over and faced him, “I’m sorry. This is wonderful for you. I’m just missing you.”

“I love you,” he replied with a kiss. “It’ll seem long, but we’ll talk to each other every day. And just think how great the sex’ll be once I’m back.”

Lyla snorted and playfully pushed his head from hers.

He laughed, “I’ll miss you, but I think it will be good. For the band, anyway.”

“It’s an idea,” she said. “Us coming to visit you, I mean.”

“Yeah? I think we’ll be in the UK at that point, so it’d be somethin’ new for August and Ben. But we’ll talk about it later. I want to be with you right now.”

Lyla nodded and connected her lips with his. It was late and they both had to get up for work in the morning, but they wanted to spend as much time awake in each other’s presence as they could until he had to leave, even if it meant severe sleep deprivation.

* * *

It was a big affair as The Connelly Brothers prepared to leave for their first real tour. Everyone’s family was present to see their loved ones off, and even some fans who were caught off-guard by the appearance of the band were sticking around to wish the boys well.

Lyla stood on the brink of tears with Ben in her arms and August by her side as they bid farewell to Louis who was equally uneasy about leaving for such a long stretch. The band was taking a huge risk, currently all unemployed, for the sake of the band, and they hoped it would pay off – that the time away from family would end up meaning something rather than being a waste of time and money.

“Make sure you help your mam out,” Louis advised August. “And stay out of trouble. Don’t do anythin’ your uncle would do.”

August smirked but felt like he wanted to cry as well. “Can I come visit?”

Louis glanced at Lyla who avoided his gaze. “I’ll leave that up to your mam, yeah?” He turned his attention to his youngest son who he took from Lyla’s willing arms. “Sorry, I’ll miss your birthday, man. But I’ll be back soon.”

“I come?” asked Ben, the almost-two-year-old not quite comprehending the situation.

“Nah, man, sorry,” Louis kissed his son’s forehead. “This is only for da. You stay with August and mam.”

“No!” Ben cried but buried his head in Louis’ chest rather than throwing a tantrum, much to his father’s relief.

Louis rocked him slowly and patted his back while approaching Lyla. He held his free arm open and she wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her own head on his chest and crying silently. “I’ll call you every other day and send you a message if I can’t. We’ll Skype every week. And we’ll see each other in August, whether it’s me comin’ back or you comin’ out.”

“I already miss you so much,” she murmured into his chest, “and you’re not even gone yet. I don’t know how I’m going to do eight months.”

Louis rubbed her back in a circular motion, “hey, we were apart for over a decade. Eight months is nothin’.”

She shook her head, “it’s not the same.”

“No,” he agreed, “it’s not the same.”

Mateo wasn’t as agreeable as Ben had been and was throwing a tantrum in the corner of the airport away from everyone else while Maya cried, and Marshall tried to placate them both.

“It won’t be that long,” Marshall offered Maya who kept on apologizing and insisting she was fine.

Maya waved him off, “don’t worry about me. I can’t help it. I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be back.” She stalked off around the corner to collect herself in the women’s bathroom while Marshall calmed Mateo down. When Maya returned, eyes dry and red, Mateo was sitting calmly on Marshall’s lap, people-watching.

“Mama!” he squealed upon seeing Maya.

She took him in her arms, “well, you’re doing a lot better.”

“I take care you when da gone,” he said proudly before leaning on Maya in a half hug.

Tears promptly began falling from Maya’s eyes once more. She shook her head, “I’m sorry. This is so stupid.”

Marshall pulled her into a hug and rested his head against hers.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. I think I love you too much,” she mumbled miserably.

Marshall chuckled, “I don’t think that’s an actual problem.” Then he added in an almost-murmur, “I love you and’ll miss you.” They began walking back towards the group as Maya dried her eyes. “Make sure you get lots of cock while I’m gone,” he said, now a little too loud.

“Well, I’ll have to,” she laughed, grinning through her tears.

“What’s a ‘cock’?” asked Mateo.

“A rooster – like cock-a-doodle-doo,” Maya responded, not missing a beat. “Da means chicken.”

“Yup,” Marshall agreed. “Need to make sure you both eat healthy while I’m gone.” Maya laughed and Marshall grinned. “Alright, boys, time to get to security,” he announced, squeezing Maya’s arm as he did so.

The Connelly Brothers said their final goodbyes to their families and then left them behind to go through security.

When Louis reached the other side of security, he looked back to where he had left his wife and children. They were still standing, watching him slowly disappear from sight. He waved a final goodbye, which they returned eagerly, then followed the others towards their gate. They had spent a little too long saying goodbye and were boarding almost immediately.

He, Marshall, and Brian sat on one side of the aisle while Nick and Steve sat in the middle section. They were squeezed into economy, which wasn’t ideal for a bunch of tall men, but the record company wasn’t going to shell out any more than they had to. Louis took one for the team and found himself in the middle seat, completely free of any comfort for their nine-hour flight.

Louis managed to watch a few films that took up the flight time nicely, and they were soon in Russia well after midnight local time, ready to start their tour.

As soon as they were through customs and in baggage claim, Louis connected his phone to wifi and video called Lyla back home where they would just be finishing dinner.

She answered with an enthusiastic “hello, love!” that caused Louis’ heart to swell. The next eight months would be torture. August appeared shortly after with Ben in his arms.

“Hey, how’s everythin’?” he said as the carousel slowly began filling with bags.

“We’re good,” she replied. “We just had dinner. How was the flight?”

“Cramped,” Louis complained, “but fine. We’re just waitin’ for our bags now.”

“It’s only been nine hours,” Marshall interrupted, pushing his face in front of the camera. “Lyla, you’re a free woman now. Make the most of it!”

“Fuck off,” Louis laughed, pushing his brother away. “Sorry,” he said once he had the screen to himself.

Lyla was smiling, “just make sure he calls Maya, so I don’t get a panicked call at midnight.”

“Will do,” he assured her as his phone shouted at him to connect it to a charger. “Listen, my phone’s almost dead. We’re gonna get our bags then try to crash as soon as we get in. It’s near two in the mornin’ here. I’ll shoot you a message when I’m at the hotel, yeah?”

Lyla nodded but he thought he could see a pixelated quiver of the lip, “okay, my love. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied. “Bye August, bye Ben. Love you both.” They waved to him and said their goodbyes as well, then disappeared from the screen as he ended the call. His heart sank. The next eight months would definitely be torture.

 


	37. June-August 2011

_June 2011_

Louis and The Connelly Brothers had been away from the US for nearly two months. The first month was agony for him, unable to sleep without Lyla next to him, but his body and psyche eventually adjusted and, while he missed his family terribly, he was better rested and into the routine of their tour.

They had just finished their third show in France and they would soon be going to Spain and Portugal before heading to the United Kingdom in August where they would have a break and where his family would travel to see him.

Forced to stay in hostels, sharing one great room with the other two bands they were travelling with, it was difficult to find time for himself, so he would often take his laptop and hide away in a café somewhere. That is where he found himself on Sunday morning following their show. He took the rail out of the city, away from everyone else, so that he could talk to his family in peace or read or do literally anything else than hang out with a bunch of hungover musicians for the billionth time.

It was cloudy and looked like it was going to rain, but the scenery was green, and people kept to themselves. He ordered breakfast and coffee at the café of his choice then opened his laptop to check his email and relax; he’d be able to call home in a couple of hours when his family started waking up.

There was an email from Lyla filled with photos from Ben’s birthday that she had kept forgetting to send, along with an email from August. The photos made him smile but also made him feel like hopping on the next plane home to see the smiling faces in person. He thought that Ben had grown a considerable amount in the last two months but wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it. Everyone looked ecstatic, which made him smile. He saved the photos to his computer and set his desktop as an image of everyone – Ben, Mateo, August, Lyla, and Maya – all together at their home. He then went onto August’s email, which read:

_Hey Dad, hope everything is going good over there. I’m excited to visit in a month! I’m writing cause I need advice and don’t really want to ask mom because it’s about a girl._

Louis was suddenly very interested. August had never really talked about his interests outside of music and he always wondered what kind of person his son would be interested in.

_Her name’s Anna and she goes to Juilliard too. We’ve been friends since last year when we worked together for the spring showcase. We worked together this year too and you probably saw her dancing. That’s why she’s at Juilliard. So we’re good friends… but I kinda want to ask her out but I don’t know how and don’t want her to feel weirded out if she says no. I still want to be her friend. So… yeah, what should I do?_

Louis thought he could hear the nerves in his son’s voice and laughed to himself. He was the same way at fifteen, only the advice given to him was from Marshall who told him having a girlfriend was a mistake. He hoped his advice to August would be more helpful:

_Hey Aug, it’s good to hear from you._

_Whatever you do, don’t tell your uncle about this._

_As far as advice, I’d say ask her out casually. To get ice cream or go to the zoo or something. And ask her when you’re doing something you usually do together. If she says no (she probably won’t), then just tell her that’s fine and continue doing whatever it is that you were doing. It’s only awkward if you let it be. You’ll be alright man. If you don’t ask, you’ll always wonder, yeah? Let me know how it goes!_

_I can’t wait to see all of you._

* * *

At the beginning of July, Louis missed Lyla more than he had up to that point. It was their anniversary and he was literally half a world away. They would talk later on and he would sing her another song that he wrote for her, but it would pale in comparison to being in New York with her.

He was sitting on his bed the Tuesday of their anniversary, free to roam about Barcelona, but really more interested in moping, when the lady from the front desk came into the room with mail for the various men staying in the hostel. Most of the men were in the room nursing hangovers or taking a break from doing anything so it was Marshall who got the mail for their band.

There was a rectangular box that simply said “Connelly” above the address and looked to be in Aaron’s handwriting, as was most of the mail they received, seeing as it was the company who had booked all of their accommodations. Marshall opened the box by stabbing the tape with a pen. He took one look inside, exclaimed “fuck,” and broke down laughing. “It’s for you, Lou.”

Louis took the box and looked inside. There was a small envelope with ‘Louis’ written in Lyla’s handwriting on top of several partially obscured photographs of Lyla in the nude or some new outfit meant to entice him. And Marshall had seen them – at least, the visible parts of the pictures. “Jesus,” he sighed. Then he warned Marshall, “don’t say a word about this to her.”

Marshall caught his breath, “you hit the jackpot, Louie. She seems all sweet and innocent and then suddenly she’s fuckin’ takin’ pictures like those.”

“Marshall.”

“Ah, Louie, I won’t say nothin’. Promise.”

Louis didn’t believe his brother. He knew it would get back to Lyla somehow, but that hopefully wouldn’t be for a long while yet.

He opened the envelope and read to himself:

_Happy Anniversary, my love._

_Our third year of marriage and I love you just as much, if not more, than the first. To celebrate three years, I’ve given you three things:_

_1\. Photographs so that you have something to hold you over until I see you again;_   
_2\. A new leather cuff with mine, August’s, and Ben’s names etched along the seams so that you have us close always (and because apparently year three’s theme is leather);_   
_3\. And something very special that you’ll have to dig to the bottom to see._   
_Call me tonight (your time) and let me know that you’ve received the gifts. I’ll be waiting._

_Forever yours,_

_Lyla_

Sitting on his lower bunk, away from prying eyes, Louis took a moment to examine the photos. They were tasteful, just like she was, and clearly done through self-timer. He couldn’t imagine her posing nude for a professional. In most, she wore different pieces of lingerie from their past along with some new pieces, while in the remaining photos, she shed all clothing and posed as seductively as she could muster. If he were in a room alone, he might spend more time exploring the photos, but he wasn’t. He slid the photos in his laptop’s case for safekeeping, then delved further into the box.

The leather cuff was expertly crafted with his family’s names tiny but visible to not impede on the original style. He would wear it during performances as it certainly fit the rockstar aesthetic.

Lastly, at the bottom of the box beneath crumpled tissue paper, there was another, smaller box tied with a ribbon. It was long and looked like it once housed a necklace. He pulled one of the exposed strings and the bow unravelled. Opening the box, cotton obscured the object from view. He removed the top piece and laughed out loud at what was inside.

“What is it, Lou?”

Louis waved Marshall off and read the note inside the small box:

By our anniversary, it will be 16 weeks already. I’ll be finding out the sex next week. Due date is December 19th.

“Lyla’s pregnant,” he announced to anyone within earshot.

“Shit, congrats Louie!” Marshall said, clapping him on the back as the others around him offered their congratulations as well.

He didn’t know if he’d be able to wait to call home until later. He wanted to know everything. But then the reality hit him, and his heart sank. Lyla had a track record for going into labour early. Granted, with August, it was due to trauma, but even Ben was a few weeks early. If this kid could hang on until its due date, then he would be able to see Lyla through it. But if it decided to come early like the others, he would miss out on the birth of his second child and he wasn’t sure he could cope with that.

“When’s the kid due?” asked Louis’ brother. “’Nother boy, you think?”

Louis shook his head, “I think it’ll be a girl. Due just before Christmas.”

“Competin’ with her big brother already, huh?”

Louis chuckled, “yeah, I guess so.”

* * *

The month of August arrived at an agonizingly slow pace. The bands had finished up their performances in Spain and Portugal and were now in the UK where they would have two weeks off before continuing their tour around the UK and Ireland followed by several summer festivals in different pockets of Europe until mid-September when they would fly to Southeast Asia.

Lyla, August, and Ben had been spending the past week preparing for their flight to London to meet up with Louis. Maya and Mateo would be tagging along as well at Lyla’s urging despite Maya thinking Marshall would think her out of her mind for wasting money on a ticket just to see him. There was also the matter of both August and Maya having intense fears of flying. August had flown enough times to peg down coping mechanisms. However, Maya had always avoided planes and was inconsolable at the prospect of her and her child stepping onto a death trap.

They all sat in the departure lounge waiting to be called for boarding. August sat isolated from the world with his music, preparing himself, while Lyla sat with Ben and Mateo, keeping them entertained. Maya paced endlessly around the airport, too anxious to keep still. She had wanted to take the sleep aid she had bought to calm her or down as much vodka as she could to make her numb, but Lyla assured her that she would not be allowed on the plane if she was under any sort of visible influence.

When they were called to board, Lyla corralled the two toddlers, aided by August, while Maya rushed back from the bathroom at the announcement. Lyla had never seen her look so… sweaty. Her usual perfect beauty was lost amongst the nerves and she was visibly shaking if she stood still for too long. Luckily, because of Ben and Mateo, they were able to board with some of the first passengers and get settled quickly. August, who preferred the window seat as a means of calming him, got settled quickly while Lyla figured out the best way to deal with the chaos that was sure to ensue with two toddlers who had never flown, an older son who would check out as soon as the safety demonstration was over, and a full-grown woman who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. In the end, she decided that having Maya in the aisle seat would be best with Mateo between her and August, and she would sit with Ben in the middle-row seats.

“Take your meds,” she ordered Maya, hoping that they were strong enough to sedate her. Mateo was nothing but excited to be on the plane, so Lyla hoped that he wouldn’t need his mother too much until they were in the air, by which time Lyla could take over and August would be better able to help.

Maya did as she was told so that by the time the safety demo was over, her eyes were half-closed, and she was noticeably calmer.

Mateo and Ben giggled wildly as the plane raced down the runway and into the air, and Maya fell asleep.

It was an uneventful flight until turbulence shocked Maya awake. Mateo and Ben were both with Lyla, wailing, while August had his hood up with a death grip on the arm rest. Maya’s eyes were wild with fear as Lyla assured her… and Mateo… and Ben that it would be over in a moment.

It was, but unwarranted tears were streaming down Maya’s face. “Mama,” Mateo cried, reaching for his mother once the plane settled. She took him and held him close to her until he started complaining about her holding him too tight. With shaking hands, she placed him in the seat next to her and gave him the in-flight magazine since it was the only thing she could reach without having to move too far from the back of her chair.

“There are movies that Mateo can watch,” Lyla suggested. “Just get your headphones out and let him use them. Can you watch Ben while I use the bathroom, please?”

It was her own fault for suggesting Maya come along; she was only thinking of Marshall and surprising him. She hadn’t realized that she’d have four children to take care of, which is why she took a little longer in the bathroom than necessary. There were still roughly three and a half hours left on the flight and she hoped Maya would sleep for most of that time. Despite his mother needing professional help, Mateo was doing quite well. The only hurdle was the turbulence. If she could stick with only needing to care for Ben while August placated Mateo when he could, then the time would go by reasonably quickly.

When she returned feeling a little fresher and a little more at ease, Mateo was watching a movie in oversized headphones while Maya snacked on some chips.

“How are you feeling?” Lyla asked, taking Ben back to his seat to now watch the same movie.

“I took another dose of my sleep aid and will hopefully be dead to the world soon,” Maya responded, finishing off the bag. “Thanks for looking out for Mateo.”

The next three hours passed without any incident. Maya slept and Mateo watched the screen until he fell asleep in his mother’s lap. When it was time to prepare for landing, neither Mateo nor his mother would wake up, both complaining as Lyla encouraged them to wake. All she could do was make sure their seatbelts were fastened and manoeuvre Mateo so that she could put the armrest down. They didn’t wake up fully until the plane hit the ground, and that didn’t last long enough for Maya to register what was going on.

The group waited for most of the other passengers to depart the plane until they did the same, if only because Maya was having trouble staying awake after a double dose of sleeping pills.

Mateo was awake enough to walk, which was good since Lyla didn’t trust Maya to hold on to anything at the moment. August kept up with Mateo while Ben slept against Lyla’s chest. Lyla walked with Maya close to her. She took charge and explained the situation to the questioning custom’s officer, who was understanding, and they made their way to baggage claim.

Lyla sat Maya on a bench by herself, while the rest of them waited for the bags, which took longer than expected. By the time everything was collected, Maya was a little more awake and able to walk more or less on her own. She took Mateo in her arms and walked slowly towards arrivals, a sudden fear of rejection causing her to pause. “I’ll be out in a sec,” she said, needing to take a moment to chill.

Frustrated with the constant stress Maya had been, Lyla left her to her own devices, eager to see her husband.

Maya stood for a moment, breathing deeply and rocking Mateo. “You’re being an idiot,” she whispered to herself. “Just go. It’ll be fine.” She took another deep breath and charged through the exit before she could doubt herself again.

When Lyla saw Louis waiting in arrivals after their three months apart, she devolved into a mess of tears and ran to him. They kissed each other and stood embracing each other, careful not to squish their youngest son.

“I missed you,” she whispered, kissing him again.

“I’ve missed you too. So much,” Louis replied, taking in her eyes and lips and curls. “How’re you doin’?” he asked, his hand resting on her stomach, which was beginning to grow.

She shrugged but only responded with a kiss. It was tough. She had severe morning sickness that would still rear its ugly head at the most inopportune times, her cravings were much worse than either of her previous pregnancies, and she already felt like she had gained a hundred pounds. She had a feeling that it was going to be a very uncomfortable pregnancy, made more difficult by the absence of her husband.

Louis kissed the top of Ben’s head as the toddler dozed before taking him in his arms and hugging August. “Y’alright? The plane ride okay?”

August nodded, “it was okay. Only a little bit of turbulence.”

“Good. Should we get goin’ then?” he asked Lyla.

“Not yet,” she said quickly, looking back at the sliding doors, wondering where Maya had gone.

“Everythin’ alright? Did you forget somethin’?”

“No, I just—”

The doors slid open and out came Maya, looking high as a kite, with Mateo looking all around him. “Da!” he squealed upon seeing his father.

Marshall’s eyebrows shot up almost comically at the sight of the two.

Maya set her son down and he promptly ran full speed into Marshall’s arms. “What the heck, man? What’re you guys doin’ here?” He pulled Maya into a hug as soon as she reached them, “Maya.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Am I surprised?” he echoed incredulously.

“Good surprised?” she clarified.

“Yes, good surprised,” he confirmed, kissing the top of her head. “How in the Hell did you get her on a plane?” he asked Lyla.

“I took sleeping pills. They’re excellent,” answered Maya.

Marshall laughed, “explains why you look pissed out your mind.”

“C’mon,” Louis interrupted, taking Lyla’s bags in his free hand, “let’s get somethin’ to eat then we can get into the city.”

* * *

The seven of them got some dinner, giving the newcomers a chance to change and freshen up while they waited for their meals, and then found their way to central London on the train. Lyla had booked the two families an Airbnb so that they could have space away from the other musicians, and so that she and Louis could have a room to themselves.

It was dark by the time they got to their accommodations, which was a large flat with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Lyla and Louis called dibs on the master bedroom and master bath while Maya and Marshall (who had to get his stuff from the hostel now that he realized he’d be staying at the Airbnb) were given the smaller double room; Mateo and Ben would share the smallest room that was already fitted with a crib (Ben would sleep in the smaller bassinet since Mateo was significantly taller); August would sleep on the pull-out couch in the living room.

Lyla and company were exhausted from their flight, but Louis and Marshall were more than happy to spend time with their sons. They bathed them and got them ready for bed while Lyla, Maya, and August unpacked and relaxed.

It was close to midnight by the time everyone went to bed. But all Lyla and Louis wanted to do was satisfy their longing for one another. She felt in desperate need of a shower but wanted Louis more, so she figured she could hold off until morning. And Louis was just as eager for her. It was the longest they’d been apart from one another since their hiatus after first meeting; it was weighing heavy on them both.

“I want you so much,” she whispered between kisses over Louis’ neck, chest, and lips. She felt suddenly wild with desire and stripped naked without the need for any encouragement.

Louis laughed and did the same before she pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He ran his hands roughly over her body, feeling every curve and freckle that he had missed, and his heart swelled, “I think you’re even more beautiful than before.”

Lyla chuckled, “that’s only because you haven’t seen me for so long. Otherwise, it’d be the same old thing.”

“Never,” he replied, pulling her close to him. “Every day, there’s something new that I love about you.”

“Must be a long list,” she breathed into his ear before nibbling at his neck.

“It is,” Louis agreed, reaching for her thighs and pulling her forward. “I’ll tell you about them some time.”

Lyla smiled, “I’ll be waiting.” She guided him into her and felt immediate satisfaction for being with him again. “I love you,” she sighed. “And I’ve missed this.”

He kissed her and shook his head, “not as much as me.”

* * *

“How’re you feelin’ now?” Marshall asked Maya, handing her another slice of very-late-night pizza.

“Wide awake and bloated,” she complained, taking the pizza followed by another sip of beer. “This pizza is fucking delicious though.”

A movie played on Marshall’s laptop as the two sat half-naked in their small double bed. They had tried falling asleep after a heated session of sex, but Maya was wide awake and not too eager to become reliant on sleeping aids. So, they ordered pizza and opened a six pack that Marshall had bought on the way back from the hostel.

“What made you want to come all this way?” he asked, shifting himself to be lying down instead of sitting up.

“You’re kidding, right? Obviously you, stupid.”

Marshall snorted, “I mean, why not just ask me to come back if you wanted to see me? Save you a heart attack or two.”

Maya shrugged, not wanting to gush about how much she had missed him.

“I’m glad you came anyway. Good surprise.”

She leaned over and kissed him, “thanks.”

He patted her thigh, “I’m goin’ to sleep. I’ll see you in the mornin’.” He rolled onto his side and fell asleep almost immediately, judging by the snoring that soon overwhelmed the movie’s volume.

Maya closed the laptop and finished up her food and drink before setting the nearly empty pizza box on the side table, turning off the light, and curling up under the blanket against Marshall.

* * *

The next day started late. Lyla and Louis wanted to stay with each other alone in their room, so kept the door closed for as long as they could, and Marshall and Maya were passed out from a late night of drinking and carbs, so were dead to the world until nearly noon. August had taken it upon himself to care for Ben and Mateo who were very amenable to the idea of hanging out with their big brother/cousin. He changed, dressed, and fed them, and then the three of them sat in front of the living room TV watching weird British cartoons until their parents emerged.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Lyla told August, kissing him on the top of his head. She was showered and dressed and starving. “We’re going to go out for some breakfast… or lunch... after everyone’s dressed. Do you want to go take a shower? I’ll see if Uncle Marshall and Maya are awake.”

August left his brother and cousin who were entranced by the brightly coloured cartoon animals and went to have his shower. Lyla rapped quietly on Marshall and Maya’s door but got no response. She was nervous about opening the door, potentially revealing something she didn’t want to see, so she put her ear to the door and listened. Sure enough, Marshall’s snores could be hear on the other side. Lyla knocked again, louder and more confidently now that she knew she wouldn’t be interrupting anything.

A muffled grunt that was inflected into a question returned.

“We’re all getting ready to go out for some breakfast. August is just hopping in the shower now, so you’ll probably have some time.” He was at an age where long showers were normal and irritating to those around him. They liked their house for the sole reason that August had a bathroom more or less to himself. “You can use the master bath if you need.”

“’Kay,” Maya’s sleep-heavy voice replied.

Lyla went to wait with Ben and Mateo, and Louis soon after, until everyone else was ready to go.

The place they were staying was in Central London, though a little outside of the tourist-heavy intersections, which made it a little bit easier for them to navigate the area around them. They found themselves in a nearby pub that was fairly busy as the lunch time rush hit heavy, but they managed to get their food and drink rather quickly. Afterwards, they went walking around London, not wanting to rush or commit to anything in particular until they adjusted a bit more to the time.

They were walking through Leicester Square, which was full of tourists and colourful people. Lyla had gone to one of the ticket booths to see how much a show in the West End would be, so Louis pulled August aside to catch up with him.

“How’s the girl doin’?” he asked.

August in all his bashfulness simply said, “good.”

“Did you tell your mam yet?”

August shook his head vehemently, “no.”

Louis grinned, “why not?”

August shrugged, though clearly wanted to say something.

“What is it?” Louis urged.

His son sighed and said, “she’s too emotional.”

Louis laughed, “what do you mean?”

“The baby’s making her crazy,” August admitted. “She cries at everything. Or gets angry at everything. Or cries because she got angry. She’ll overreact when I tell her, and I don’t want to upset her.”

“Aw, man, you won’t upset her; she’ll be happy that you’re happy,” Louis pat his son’s shoulder. “But did you want me to tell her?”

Again, August shook his head, “no! That would be worse.”

“She needs to know at some point.”

“I know.”

Figuring that August didn’t want to continue with the point of topic, he said, “well, think of somethin’ for when you’re back that’ll get your mam complainin’ to me instead of gettin’ on your case, yeah?”

August nodded and pushed his dad away as his mother returned from the ticket booth.

“Okay, so there are a bunch of shows for pretty cheap. We could get something tomorrow? What do people want?”

“Think I’m gonna pass,” Marshall shrugged. “Not much into plays and that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Maya agreed.

Lyla’s mood changed almost immediately. “Well, what’s the point of me even checking then?”

Louis glanced at August who had a look of “here we go” written over his face.

“We don’t feel like goin’ to see a play, darlin’. You were the one interested,” Marshall returned.

Lyla seemed to become flustered, and her face flushed, “God forbid we have—”

“Lyla,” Louis interrupted, resting his hand on her waist, “maybe Marshall and Maya’ll keep an eye on Ben tomorrow. You, me and August can go see somethin’. Or just you and me if August doesn’t want. The theatre’s no place for a toddler anyhow.”

She opened her mouth to argue until Louis repeated her name to keep her from letting her emotions do the talking, which succeeded in quieting her but also in making her cry.

Louis ran his hand over his face, “listen, Marshall, why don’t you guys go ahead, and we’ll catch up with you at the flat.”

Marshall agreed and left with Maya, Mateo, August, and Ben in tow.

Louis led Lyla to a stone ledge and sat her down as people walked past in droves, many staring at the sobbing woman. He sat next to her, holding her hand until she calmed herself down and leaned her head against his shoulder. But then he made the mistake of asking if she was alright, and she began crying all over again. He laughed and wrapped his arm around her.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

“This kid’s really gettin’ to you, eh?”

She looked at him with running mascara and wide eyes and nodded, “it’s driving me crazy. I’ll be good for stretches at a time, then I’m suddenly crying or shouting or vomiting. And I feel like I have no control over myself. I hate it.” She cried some more.

“I’m sorry mo chroí. I know it’s hard.”

Lyla nodded and breathed in deeply, trying to fix her make up as she settled herself. “Thanks for reeling me in,” she chuckled. “I feel so bad for August and Ben. They don’t have a buffer back home.”

“They love you,” he said, tilting her face towards him so that he could fix her make up for her. “August understands and knows to give you space, and Ben won’t remember any of it anyway.” Satisfied with his fix-up job, he kissed her. “What do you want to do?”

“Fast forward five months and give birth,” she replied.

Louis laughed, “don’t think I can help with that. But do you want to have a day to ourselves tomorrow? No Ben, no August, no Marshall. We could go to a show, have dinner, whatever we want? But the trade off’ll be a day just for Ben and August.”

Lyla nodded, “I’d like that. I’ll try not to cry.”

He kissed her cheek, “tears or no tears, it’ll be my favourite day since leavin’ New York. Ready to go?”

* * *

Lyla woke up to Louis’ soft snores in her ear, his muscled arms holding her close to him. She could hear the TV in the living room playing some children’s show and knew that August had stepped in again. She was exceedingly thankful for her eldest son so that she could enjoy the feeling of security and comfort associated with waking up enveloped by her husband. Quickly, her thoughts changed from how happy she was to how many days she had left before she had to fly back to New York, and she began to cry silently.

“What’s wrong?” Louis whispered, his voice not awake enough to achieve a greater volume. Clearly, she had not been as quiet as she had intended.

“I don’t want to go home,” she cried.

Louis buried his face in her hair, “don’t dwell. Enjoy the time we have now.”

“I know. I was. I am.”

He chuckled quietly, “sounds like it.” He pulled her closer, “we’ve just gotta make the most of the time we have, yeah?”

Lyla sniffled and nodded before turning around to face him. His brilliant blue eyes were looking into her own, the one corner of his lips turned upward in a suggestive smirk. His eyes darted downwards to her breasts. He gently fondled her right breast with his left hand before shifting so that he could instead kiss her chest, pausing only to nip at her smooth skin.

He nudged her over so that she was on her back and continued kissing and softly biting her chest and stomach, occasionally her neck, while she tangled her fingers in his dark hair. As he ran his hands from her waist to her thighs, he delighted in her quickened breaths and smiled. Slow and deliberate, he began working his tongue between her thighs, quickly stealing glances at his wife when he could, her reactions fuelling him forward.

Louis quickened his pace, causing Lyla to arch her back and readjust as she moaned his name. Her fingers were locked in his hair and her head flung back, eyes closed, the rhythmic movements of her husband’s tongue beginning to send her into a frenzy. Knowing his wife quite well, he quickened his pace even further until she was covering her mouth to prepare in the event an uncontrolled moan or scream would escape her lips. She felt the electricity build until her thighs were threatening to crush Louis between them, and her body was shuddering with every continued stroke of his tongue.

With a final kiss, he rolled onto his back while Lyla brushed her fingers through his untidy hair catching her breath. He closed his eyes, feeling her nails gently scratch his scalp, the sensation feeling like home.

“Why does that feel so good?” he murmured.

“It doesn’t feel as good as what I just experienced,” she giggled.

Louis laughed then rolled abruptly onto his stomach so that he could see his wife. He kissed just below her belly button where their third child was growing, “I always hope for your happiness. And you always bring me more happiness than I ever thought possible. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You know that, right?”

Lyla cupped his face with her hand and nodded then whispered, “I love you. I wish I was half as good with words as you are. ‘I love you’ doesn’t seem to be enough.”

Louis chuckled, “I know how much you love me. I figure it must be something similar to how much I love you.”

“Good,” Lyla smiled. “I really want to stay in bed, but what do you say we get going?”

Louis stretched, groaning loudly, “I guess we ought to.”

Neither one moved though. They laughed and stayed still for a few more minutes before getting ready for the day.

Louis was showered, dressed, and ready first as he usually was, and joined his sons and nephew in the living room. “Mornin’,” he grunted, sitting on the couch that was still in bed form. “Have a good sleep?”

“Woke up really early,” August replied. “I don’t know how everyone else is sleeping through the night.”

“Well me and Marshall’ve been here for awhile. Maya was drugged half out of her mind and slept it off in good time, Matty and Ben are toddlers, and your mam is pregnant so is pretty well tired all the time.”

“So, you’re saying I need to take drugs?”

Louis laughed, “that or be pregnant.”

“I think drugs might be easier.”

“Well, you take anythin’ stronger than a sleep aid or weed and it’ll be the last thing you ever do, yeah?”

August chuckled, “you’re telling me I can smoke weed?”

Louis shrugged and whispered, “even your mam’s had the occasional hit. Can’t be a hypocrite.”

“What are you whispering about?” Lyla asked as she exited the master bedroom.

“Ah,” Louis said, patting August’s shoulder before standing up, “just a very serious father-son conversation.”

“I’m sure,” Lyla replied, not quite believing her husband’s claims. She walked to August, kissing the top of his head before taking Ben and Mateo back to their room to get them changed and dressed. Meanwhile, Louis made a quick breakfast of eggs and toast for the toddlers, which they ate happily together. “Ready to go?” Lyla asked.

Louis nodded and banged on the double bedroom door where Maya and Marshall probably weren’t sleeping.

A questioning grunt came from Marshall on the other side of the door, “me and Lyla are headin’ out. Call if there’re any problems, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Maya replied simply, her own voice thickened with sleep and distraction.

Louis and Lyla spent the morning getting breakfast, buying tickets to an afternoon show at the West End, and strolling around Hyde Park, hand-in-hand. At noon, they went to Covent Garden for lunch and looked around the little shops and markets in the area, not very interested in buying anything. Everywhere they went was inconsequential so long as they were together. They wandered aimlessly around the city until it was time for the musical they decided on. Their seats had been very cheap but were much better than they thought they would be. For the next few hours, they watched the show and clung onto each other, especially after a character death that had Lyla fighting the urge to sob uncontrollably. Louis wrapped his arm around her and let her bury her face in his chest to try and mask the sobs while mouthing “pregnant” to anyone perplexed by her dramatic reaction.

After the show, it was rush hour and commuters were thronged among the tourists on roads and on the underground. Lyla and Louis decided to continue their walk despite their aching feet (at least the show had let them rest for a while) until they ended up on the lively Carnaby Street. They found their way into a pub and sat to relax and get a few drinks (non-alcoholic for Lyla’s sake).

It was strange to Lyla that despite being with Louis for three years and despite being with each other almost constantly the past couple of days, there was never a shortage of things to say, and she liked that if they didn’t feel like talking, they could people watch in silence together without feeling uncomfortable. She supposed that was to be expected from a married couple, at least a strong married couple, but it felt different from what she had known growing up. Even with Lizzy, there would be times where Lyla felt the need to fill the silence – Lizzy was someone who liked to talk all the time – or felt at a loss for what to say. Their relationship was a bit easier now in that they talked every day but only through online messengers or text with the occasional call; if Lyla didn’t feel like talking, she didn’t have to. She supposed she and Lizzy were very different from one another while her and Louis, despite their differences and habits that got on the other’s nerves, they were much more similar and wanted the same things in life.

Lyla squeezed Louis’ hand after a prolonged bout of silence as they watched the world around them, “you’re my best friend,” she said.

“Can I tell Lizzy?” he joked.

Lyla smiled, “she’s my best girl friend and we’ll always be close, but you’re my best, best friend, my soulmate.”

He kissed her cheek, “you’re my best friend too. But don’t try to explain it to Marshall. If he asks, he’s my best friend.”

Lyla laughed, “I’ll keep your secret, don’t worry.”

The two finished up their drinks and continued their journey, running out of ideas for things to do. They wanted to do big things like bus tours and the London Eye and everything else with August and Ben, so they had only taken images of the skyline and themselves in various areas of London. But as they made their way back through Leicester Square, they saw an advertisement for ghost tours and decided to join on one together.

As they were walking with the tour group, a young man and woman approached Louis and Lyla. “Excuse me,” the girl said somewhat timidly. “I’m sorry to bother you, but are you the singer from The Connelly Brothers?”

“Yeah,” Louis said confidently. He had been getting recognized in random places a lot more frequently and enjoyed the moment every time. He held out his hand to shake each of their hands, “I’m Louis and this is my wife, Lyla.” They shook Lyla’s hand as well. “You’re not from here,” he noted, hearing the neutral accent.

“No, we’re from New York actually,” the girl replied. “We’ve seen you perform loads of times. We’re going to be at your Dublin show too since it lines up with our travel plans. I’m Lindsay and this is my husband, Todd. We’re both big fans.”

“Well, thanks for the support, that’s really nice to hear. We’ll be goin’ to the pub after the show in Dublin, just down the road from where we’ll be performin’. Come down and see us, and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the band.”

The couple thanked him as the tour began but left he and Lyla alone for the rest of the night.

“Are you used to that yet?” Lyla whispered after the couple made their way near the front of the tour group.

Louis shook his head, “I don’t think I could be. It’s strange. But also really fuckin’ good for my ego.”

Lyla laughed, “as long as your ego is happy.”

After the tour and after being sufficiently creeped out, Louis and Lyla headed for dinner at one of the oldest pubs in London. There, they ate their meals and then chatted until it became hard to hear.

“I’m so happy we got to spend the day together,” Lyla near-shouted over the noise, finishing her lemonade in a giant gulp.

Louis grinned and followed suit so that the two of them could leave. “Ready to go back?” he asked, taking her hand in his as they wandered in the dark.

She leaned her head again his arm and sighed, “I guess we have to eventually. I’m actually exhausted.”

Louis nodded, “we walked a lot today. We can go back, and I’ll run a bath for you.”

They made their way to the underground, which was much quieter than rush hour had been, and made their way back to the flat.

Marshall and August were on the couch watching some movie and greeted the two as they entered, “how’d it go?”

“It was really nice,” Lyla said. “But I’m exhausted.” She kissed the top of August’s head, “I’m checking in on Ben and then getting ready for bed. Thanks for helping out. Both of you.” She then disappeared into Ben’s room with Louis before the two made it to the master bedroom. Lyla removed her makeup and washed up while Louis ran her bath. She didn’t have her normal bath oils and bubbles, but Louis made do with a little bit of body wash. Lyla smiled as she sunk into the warm water filled with a mountain of bubbles. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

Louis kissed her slowly, “I’m goin’ to talk to August about tomorrow, but I’ll be back.”

Lyla hummed a response, completely at ease.

Louis joined his brother and son on the couch, “where’s Maya gone?”

“Ah, she’s out with some friend who lives in London. Probably won’t be back til late.”

Louis nodded, “how’d it go today?”

“Yeah, it was fine. There’s a park couple blocks over so we hung out there for a bit. Watched some movies. Napped. Pretty good day.”

“Thanks for that. August, you given any thoughts to tomorrow?”

He shrugged non-committedly and Marshall took it as his cue to busy himself elsewhere while father and son chatted. August liked to appear a certain way in front of his uncle and Marshall knew enough to give him space when he got self-conscious. “Well, I saw that you could rent bikes. It might be fun to do that and just go around.”

Louis nodded, but August clearly had more to say, “we could do that. But what else did you want to say?”

He sat up straight and faced his father the way he did when he had a grand plan, “I was thinking we could go to Trafalgar Square or somewhere and perform a bit. Just an hour. London just seems like a great place to do it. We don’t need to collect money or anything. I just haven’t performed like that in a while.”

“Yeah? Yeah, if you want to, we can do that. Probably have to get there a bit early though. Alright, so let’s leave here about ten and we’ll do the music first thing, come back to drop our stuff off, and then go get the bikes. Sound good?”

August was clearly downplaying his excitement but nodded yes.

“Cool. I’m goin’ to head to bed though. Me and your mam walked all over the city today. See you in the mornin’.” He mussed August’s hair before heading back to the master bedroom. He stepped into the humid bathroom and closed the door behind him before sitting on the closed toilet. “How’re you doin’?”

“So good,” Lyla sighed, eyes closed. She opened them and smiled, “there’s room for two, you know.”

Louis highly doubted that. It was smaller than their one at home anyway. “As long as bein’ comfortable doesn’t matter.”

Lyla laughed as Louis began undressing, “it’s bigger than it looks.” She scooted forward to allow Louis to slide in behind her. He was able to lie out comfortably, but Lyla had to bend her knees slightly, which didn’t seem to bother her.

“You’re right,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, “and you doubted me.”

“I’ll make sure to never make that mistake again,” he smirked.

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“The kid wants to busk.”

“Of course he does,” she laughed. “Where will you go?”

“He suggested Trafalgar Square, so we’ll go in the mornin’ and then he wants to rent bikes after. What are you goin’ to do?”

“I read about a couple of museums that are great for little ones, so I might take Ben and Mateo out and let Marshall and Maya have a bit of a break to do whatever they want.”

Louis nodded, “I think they’ll all like that.”

“Mhmm,” she responded, the heat and bubbles and euphoria of being with her husband making her feel singularly at ease.

The two stayed in the tub for a little while longer until they were both pruney and ready to sleep. As soon as they dried off, lotioned up, and got into bed, the exhausted couple passed out cold.  



	38. November 2011

_November 2011_

Just a month and a half, and Louis would be home. Lyla hoped that their baby girl could hold out that long. Her children seemed to like an early entrance into the world, but maybe it would be different with a girl. Lyla had definitely gained a lot more weight, had a lot more cravings, and had so many more mood swings than she did with Ben or August. She felt like an emotional blimp gliding through life on autopilot.

Now on maternity leave (to the joy of her poor students made victim of her anger and tears), she had a lot more time on her hands to set up what she wanted to set up and to prepare for the arrival of baby. So, naturally, she would sit on the couch all day with the TV on, her swollen ankles propped up with giant slippers on her feet, and zero to three blankets draped over her massive body at any given time. Alessia was still nannying Ben and Mateo, but largely kept them in the recreation area downstairs or somewhere outside in order to avoid the unpredictable woman of the house.

Lyla had just finished watching a Hallmark Christmas movie that she was a sucker for and was collecting her emotions for the next one. They were starting to cycle all day every day. Who knew there were so many Christmas movies about a big city girl finding love and the true meaning of Christmas in a small town?

She relieved herself in the bathroom, refilled her water bottle, and grabbed more snacks, ranging from plain broccoli to chocolate covered almonds – her favourite. Then she opened her laptop to check her email and browse Facebook while the next movie started.

As usual, there was an email from Louis – part of their constant, near-daily chain of emails that excited her each time she received a new one, even if both hers and Louis’ were filled with mundane goings on of their everyday lives. She read about his breakfast and how he spent most of the day leading up to his concert in bed. The email ended with him needing to get ready for the concert and asking her to say hi to his sons for him. Smiling, she responded, telling him about the five billionth Hallmark film she watched (“this time, she was a big city lawyer!”) and ending like she usually did with a countdown to her due date and his return date, which were unsettlingly close together. She was due to give birth on December 19th and Louis was due to return on the 15th. Lyla assured him as much as herself that the baby would wait for him.

After she sent off the email, she went onto Facebook, starting, as usual, with The Connelly Brothers’ page. Fans would regularly post pictures of the concert and she would save the ones that showed them in their best light. The boys would also often go out to a pub or bar afterwards and she liked to see the stories those ones told. Someone had posted pictures from the concert a couple nights before, including the boys in the bar afterwards. They were in Bangkok and seemed to be a lot more drunk in the pictures from Bangkok. One photo that Lyla saved showed a visibly drunk Louis and Marshall hanging off of each other laughing at something they clearly thought was hilarious, Tiger beer spilling out over their clothes. She grinned as she scrolled from photo to photo, not just missing Louis, but the rest of the Brothers as well. It had been too quiet without them around. Occasionally, she would stop and save or like a picture, or read the comments below.

Near the end of the album, she paused on one picture that she didn’t find funny in the slightest. The boys were drunk as usual, but in between Marshall and Louis, a familiar infuriating face was looking into the camera with glassy blue eyes and vivid red hair, and she was hanging onto Lyla’s husband. The next picture, she was there again, more attention focused on Louis, and even more in the next, when they were both alone. Tears of fury stung Lyla’s eyes. She knew Louis was drunk and possibly high out of his mind, but that girl was there. She was always around. And she had Louis all to herself while Lyla was literally on the other side of the world. Lyla was jealous and blinded by rage and wanted to hurl her laptop across the room.

A bitter voice inside her told her that Louis kept the information from her, that he was hiding Sophie from Lyla. He chose not to mention that a certain red head made an appearance; he refused to put out the fire before it started by hiding the fact, thinking that Lyla wouldn’t find out. What else was he hiding? The rational side of her, buried deep below the indignation and tears told her that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation – he was pissed out of his mind and probably didn’t know which way was up let alone the fact that Sophie was there trying to get in close to him. Maybe he didn’t remember that night at all and it didn’t stand out to him because nothing happened with the girl. Louis wasn’t that kind of man. He was a good man – a good father and a good husband who would never do anything to intentionally cause him to lose the life that he had fought for and built. But Lyla’s pregnancy made her unreasonable and it was the bitter voice she listened to, not the voice of reason.

Lyla saved the pictures on her laptop, returned to her email, and sent a new message to Louis, with only the photos attached. No subject, no further explanation. She knew her silence would speak volumes and she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. After the email was sent, she began sobbing, slammed her laptop shut, and made her way up to her bedroom where she slammed the doors, closed the curtains, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

August arrived home in the evening after his classes with Anna in tow. He had introduced her to his mother after they had returned from visiting his father. His dad had encouraged him to tell Lyla only for August to find out that Lyla had figured it out for herself. August wasn’t exactly a criminal mastermind when it came to covering his tracks and had left his email open on his father’s computer, which Lyla promptly found when she was looking up some shipping information. She told August’s dad about her knowledge but waited for August to come to her. She hadn’t overreacted and hadn’t been upset. Instead she laughed at his idea of sneaking around and invited Anna to dinner. The two of them got on pretty well.

His mom was in the dining room eating solemnly with Ben, who matched her mood on instinct. She had ordered Chinese food and it was all set out on the table.

“Hi, mom,” he said, setting his backpack down. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” she snapped. She noticed Anna but didn’t seem ashamed of her reaction like she normally would have been. “Hello Anna,” she said, not cheerfully, “please help yourself.”

August exchanged a look with Anna and the two of them filled plates to eat together in the basement, away from whatever mood Lyla was in.

It was ten at night when he started getting ready for bed. Anna had gone home, Ben was asleep, and his mother had gone to bed as well but without cleaning up, which was extremely abnormal for her. She wouldn’t say why she was upset so he left it at that. But as he was in bed with his laptop, Skype started ringing. It was his father, which was unusual, seeing as he knew it would be late. He would’ve probably just woken up, Thailand being twelve hours ahead.

August turned on his bedside lamp and sat up so that his father could actually see him, and then he answered the call, “hey dad.”

“August, where’s your mam?” he asked immediately without so much as a ‘hi’.

“Uh, she’s sleeping, why?”

“Did you see her today? How’d she seem?”

“Why? Is everything okay?”

“Did she seem upset?”

His father seemed frantic. August shrugged, “she was more irritated than usual and didn’t clean up after dinner like she usually does. Just left everything on the table and went to bed after putting Ben down. What’s wrong?”

Louis ran his hand over his face, “don’t worry about it. Tell her to call me and check her emails in the morning. It doesn’t matter what time, just make sure she calls me.”

August wasn’t reassured by his father’s erratic instructions. “You’re sure everything’s okay? Are you okay?” He was worried now.

His father’s tone relaxed a bit, “hey, yeah, sorry. Don’t worry. Your mam’s upset at me because of a stupid picture and I think she might be overreactin’ a bit. Don’t tell her I said that though, for the love of God. Sorry, man, don’t worry. I’ll let you get to bed. Just tell her to call me in the mornin’, yeah?”

August nodded, “okay, sure. Bye.” They hung up and he closed his laptop. He had more questions than answers now and was in no way reassured by his father’s insistence that everything was fine.

* * *

“Dad called me,” August began in the morning at breakfast.

Lyla had woken up later than her usual time, not bothering with her morning self-care routine. She got Ben up at his normal time, dressed him, and brought him downstairs for cereal, pouring August’s for him as well. She ate toast and yogurt.

Her mood had evened out a little bit, but she was still furious at Louis. She just didn’t want to take it out on Ben and August like she had started to the evening before.

She took another bite of her toast and nodded. Lyla figured Louis would try to get in contact with her in whatever way possible. She wouldn’t be surprised if Maya and Alessia were both contacted too. But Lyla was ignoring his calls for a little while. It seemed like a good idea, but she wasn’t sure if it actually was. Certainly, the mature thing would be to talk to him and let him explain. No, it wasn’t that she thought Louis had cheated, it was the fact that Sophie was there after everything and that he let her be there.

“He wanted me to tell you to call him and check your email,” August finished. “I don’t know why you’re mad at him, but please call him.” He finished up the last of his cereal.

“It’s not as simple as that, August,” Lyla replied, though a small voice said ‘yes, it is’.

He stood to put his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. “You need to talk to him about whatever’s happening. I’m going to school now. See you later.” He waved his mother and brother goodbye before heading out the door.

Shortly after, Maya turned up to drop Mateo off and did exactly what Lyla expected she would: she sat at one of the dining room chairs and said, “okay, so what’s going on with you and Louis?”

“That’s between me and my husband.”

Maya wasn’t fazed by Lyla’s short response, “yeah, well it’s not if you don’t talk to him. Marshall says Louis is going crazy but won’t tell him why.”

Lyla scoffed, “of course he won’t because he knows what he did was wrong.”

Maya stood, “I have to get to school. You know… this bitter, cold woman act doesn’t suit you. We’re talking about this when I come to get Mateo.”

As soon as Maya was gone, Lyla started to cry. She was right. She didn’t like being bitter and cold. But there was an underlying stubbornness to her and she found herself refusing to talk. Maybe she would give herself a few days to cool down and then she’d talk to him. If she talked to him now, nothing would come out right.

“Why you cry, mama?” Ben asked, leaving Mateo where he was playing and standing by his mom.

She breathed deeply and smiled, “mommy’s okay. You go play with Matty.”

He hugged her leg then toddled back to his cousin.

She continued to cry silently as she cleaned up the dining room and kitchen. Just because she was upset, she decided, it didn’t mean that she should let her house turn into a sty.

Alessia arrived a short time later. She was quieter than usual, and Lyla suspected seeing her in a mess of tears was probably the reason. “Alessia, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to lie down. Let me know if you need anything.”

She didn’t leave her bedroom except for food until it was time for Alessia to leave. Then she moved to the couch and watched children’s television with the boys until Maya got back.

Maya sat in the chair opposite the sofa. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

Lyla shook her head. “I’ll call Louis in a few days. You can tell Marshall that. Everyone needs to leave me alone.”

“I can’t think of anything that Louis would ever do that would make you this mad. He literally worships you. Like, it’s sickening seeing you two together. He could cheat if he wanted to, but he definitely wouldn’t. That’s the only thing I could think of that would get you so mad.”

“He didn’t cheat,” Lyla confirmed.

“So… why are you mad at him?”

“Maya—” Lyla took a deep breath. “Just take Mateo and go home. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Maya didn’t budge. “You know, I think the reason you don’t want to talk about it is because you know it’s ridiculous to be mad at him about it.”

“Maya, just fuck off!”

The cousins gasped before scolding Lyla for using a bad word.

“Yeah, auntie,” Maya encouraged. “Bad, bad.” She didn’t make a move to leave. “Tell me what happened.”

Lyla grabbed her laptop in rage, opened her email, and thrust the computer at Maya who took it happily.

“What am I looking at other than… twenty-two unopened emails from your husband?”

Lyla sighed, “look at the last email I sent him.”

Maya did so and as she opened it, she gasped, “he did not! That red-headed skank?!”

Lyla had to laugh, feeling a little bit better that someone shared her outrage.

“What’s skank?” Mateo asked.

“I meant skunk. Watch your show mijo.”

“I want to see!”

Maya rolled her eyes, did a quick Google search, and showed Mateo and Ben a picture of a reddish skunk. They were very impressed for a brief second until something more interesting was happening on TV. “You know, this is good,” Maya said, getting back on topic. “I like your approach. Just the pictures. Excellent. Like, he knows how you feel about that bit—” She caught her self, “I mean, female dog. What is she even doing in Thailand? What a… skunk.”

Lyla was beginning to feel better about the situation. Maya could really lighten a mood. “It just bothers me that he didn’t even think to mention it. And if he didn’t tell Marshall…”

“Exactly! It’s like he’s hiding it from Marshall, which is like… he knows he did wrong. You know what? Screw him. Let him suffer for a few days more. Team Lyla all the way.”

“You… you don’t think I’m blowing it out of proportion, do you? Part of me thinks it’s just a misunderstanding, but the other part is just so angry—”

“No, you made the right choice. He needs to know it’s not okay. Like, he obviously wouldn’t cheat on you or anything, but as soon as that girl is in the room, he needs to know enough to vacate. It should just be ingrained into his brain so that even when he’s high out of his mind, autopilot kicks in. You’d definitely be overreacting if you guys split up over it, but making him sweat? Nah, let him suffer a bit. I’ll tell Marshall to just shove it for a few days.”

“Thanks,” Lyla replied, feeling genuinely thankful for the fiery and opinionated woman.

“Come on mijo, time to go home.” Mateo put up a fuss, but Maya was having none of it and the two were soon on their way, Mateo squirming uselessly in Maya’s surprisingly strong hold.

Lyla sighed and got to making dinner for herself and Ben, knowing August would be later as usual. She decided on spaghetti – one of the few meals she was good at making – and while she waited for the water to boil, she decided to throw Louis a bone and at least check the emails he had sent. Maya wasn’t joking when she said there were twenty-two unread emails. They began from about nine-thirty the previous night with the most recent one being at about noon, after which he would had to have gone to sleep. She opened the first one:

_Lyla, love, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was in Thailand until the end of the concert. I told her to fuck off and she did. I don’t remember her being at the bar. I don’t remember anything from that night. These pictures don’t jog anything in my memory. I don’t know what I took. I’m sorry Lyla. Please answer my calls so we can talk._

“Maybe you should be more responsible,” she muttered, checking the state of the not-yet boiling water before opening the next one:

_I get that you’re mad and you have the right, but we need to talk about this, my love. I wish I was there right now. You couldn’t avoid me like you’re doing. Please give me a call. I love you so much._

He definitely knew what to say to make her feel like picking up the phone and calling, but she stood strong and placed the noodles in the boiling water before checking on the ground beef and giving the sauce a stir. Then she read the third one:

_I called August for him to tell you to call me. I don’t get why you’re avoiding me Lyla. Maybe it’s pregnancy brain or something, but you’re better than this. Just fucking call me as soon as you’re up._

“Fuck you,” she whispered. The next message wasn’t until about six in the morning New York time:

_Good morning, love. I’m sorry about my last email. I’m worried and I’m just hoping I haven’t messed things up. You know I hate her. She’s like the dirt under my fingernails. I know I was drinking that night and doing other stuff that I should’ve kept away from, and I know she knew that. I wouldn’t put it past her to have staged the photos just so that we would get in an argument. The bitch is a psychopath and it makes her happy to see us miserable. I love you. Let’s talk. 42 days left._

Lyla could feel the tears stinging her eyes so closed her laptop. She would read the others later. Right now, she had dinner to attend to. She finished making the spaghetti and cut the noodles into small pieces perfect for Ben. As she was placing him in his high chair, August returned home.

“Hello sweetheart,” she said as he took his seat at the dining room table. “You’re just in time.” She waddled to the kitchen and made a plate of spaghetti for August, which she brought out with Ben’s cooled meal. “How was school?”

“Really good,” he replied through a mouthful of spaghetti as she got a plate for herself. “My composition was chosen to be performed by the Philharmonic in Spring. You might even perform it!”

“That’s fantastic!” she squealed, hugging her son from behind. “Oh, I’m so proud of you. Really well done!”

“And,” August continued, “the school is talking about creating an album of student compositions and are considering including this new composition as well as my Rhapsody from when I first started. All recorded and put out to be sold. The money raised would go to fund music and performing arts education in schools around the US.”

“That’s so brilliant!” Lyla gushed, pride seeming to burst from every part of her.

He got quiet for a moment. “I’m… going to call dad to tell him. Uh… did you want to talk to him when I do?”

Lyla took a bite of her spaghetti. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I know this is hard. I don’t want you to worry. Nothing bad is going to happen. I’m going to call him in a few days. You can tell him that and that I’m reading through his emails, okay? If I talk to him now, I might say something I don’t mean to say.”

August nodded, “okay.”

* * *

“Hey man.” Louis, along with the rest of the band, was woken up by the Skype ringtone on his phone. He crept out onto the balcony in his underwear, receiving giggles from the Thai ladies cleaning the rooms of the checked-out guests. “How’s it goin’?”

August told him about the spring concert and album.

“That’s amazing, August! Really well done. Congratulations! So cool, man. You ever think of doin’ an album before?”

“I thought about it, but don’t really know what kind of album it would be. Seems weird to just be an instrumental thing. But I guess some people like that.”

“You like that. And your mam.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Louis cleared his throat, “speaking of your mam…”

“She said she’d call in a few days. She said if she calls you now, she might say something she doesn’t mean. She also said I could tell you that she’s reading through your emails right now.”

“Thanks man,” Louis sighed. “I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this. It’s stupid really.”

“It’s okay,” August shrugged. “Mom says I don’t have anything to worry about. I don’t think she’s as mad at you as she acts… if that makes sense.”

Louis nodded then changed the subject. “How’s Anna doin’?”

They spoke for a little while longer until August was tired and wanted to go to sleep. When they hung up, Louis breathed a little sigh of relief. Lyla would come around, he had no doubt. He would keep sending her emails.

* * *

As Lyla lay in bed, she continued to read the emails Louis had sent her. After the first three, they were no longer about the incident and he was no longer pleading for her forgiveness:

_Dear Lyla,_

_Your beauty, your kindness,_  
_Your talent, your soul,_  
_The children you gave me,_  
_My heart that you stole._

 _Your emerald green eyes_  
_And perfect curled hair,_  
_Your soft, soothing voice,_  
_And the way that you care._

 _You’re magnificent, brilliant,_  
_And I hope that you see_  
_I’m nothing without you,_  
_A chuisle mo chroí._

_\- L_

Tears stung her eyes and she read the next one:

_Dear Lyla,_

_If I hadn’t married you and if I hadn’t met you,_   
_I’d be in San Francisco in the warm sun_   
_And in a nice apartment, living the bachelor life._   
_I wouldn’t have to worry about the happiness of a wife_   
_Or the safety of children._   
_I wouldn’t have a care in the world._   
_I’d make loads of money and be with whoever I wanted to be with._

_But the sun would feel cold against my skin,_   
_And the apartment would feel barren._   
_The bachelor life would leave me desperately alone,_   
_And life would feel stale and stagnant without the gift of worry._   
_I wouldn’t have a care in the world because I wouldn’t feel anything._   
_Money wouldn’t bring me what I really wanted_   
_Because the only person I ever want to be with is you._

_-L_

“God, he really knows what to say,” she whispered to herself. She felt her heart beating fast and knew she wouldn’t be able to make it ‘a few days’ at this rate. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop:

_Dear Lyla,_

_It seems strange that it’s only been a day_  
_Since I read your words._

 _It seems strange that it’s only been three days_  
_Since I heard your voice._

 _It seems strange that it’s only been a week_  
_Since I saw your face._

 _It seems strange that it’s only been three months_  
_Since I held you close._

 _It seems strange that it’s only been seven months_  
_Since I was at home._

 _It seems strange that so little time has passed_  
_In eternity._

_-L_

She read on and on, poem after poem, until tears were streaming down her face in uncontrolled sobs. Despite struggling to see the screen, she carried on until she reached the last one, sent an hour ago:

_Dear Lyla,_

_In the night,_  
_I look at the moon_  
_And all I can see is you._

 _On the night that we met,_  
_Our song hung lightly in the air_  
_And the moon shone just for us two._

 _I will stay by your side, and you by mine_  
_For the next sixty-odd years, sharing in triumphs_  
_And hardships because I know that we were always_  
_Meant to be._

_-L_

She felt the unbearable need to put him out of his misery. It was a stupid argument anyway, wasn’t it? Instead she texted Maya, “should I just call him?”

Lyla closed her laptop and got ready for bed. By the time she got back to her phone, Maya had responded, “yeah, stupid.”

Lyla rolled her eyes, wanting to say a lot more. Why hadn’t Maya just said that in the first place? But Lyla knew the answer: she wouldn’t have listened anyway. She sighed and went to get the cordless from the kitchen, which she brought back to her bedroom. It would be a little after noon for Louis, so she dialled his number from memory.

In one ring, he picked up, “hello?”

Lyla took a deep breath and said quietly, “hi.”

“Lyla,” he replied, sounding immensely relieved. “Lyla, I’m so sorry. It’s stupid, I know. She shouldn’t’ve been there and—”

“Thanks for the poems,” she interrupted. “They’re beautiful.”

Louis paused then said, “I mean every word.”

“I know.”

They sat silently, listening to one another’s breaths.

Lyla sniffled, “I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Louis replied. “I should’ve just made sure she was gone and definitely shouldn’t’ve let her hang off me like that.”

“You said you couldn’t remember.”

“I couldn’t. I can’t. But I shouldn’t’ve let myself get to that point if I knew she was hangin’ around. I never want to hurt you and I know she hurts you.”

“Has she been around again?”

“No,” he said adamantly. “I haven’t seen her since the concert.”

“That you remember,” she replied, trying to lighten the tone a little bit but failing.

“Lyla…”

“I’m kidding, my love. I’m sorry. I really am. Thank you for the poems. They’re the only reason I’m calling you today instead of making you wait a couple days longer. I was being petty.”

“I’m so happy that you called, you can’t even imagine. I felt sick to the stomach, knowin’ how upset you were. I love you too much to want to hurt you.”

“I know.” She was done with the subject. They were both sorry and she felt stupid, so she decided to change the subject. “Tell me about the last couple of days.”

They stayed on the phone until Lyla was peacefully at ease and almost completely asleep, then said their goodbyes and promised to talk when Lyla woke up.


	39. December 2011

_December 2011_

Lyla was a planet. She had her own orbit. She couldn’t see or reach her feet, which were swollen beyond belief, so she needed her son to put on her boots for her, which were closer to slippers anyway. If she could avoid going outside, she did. Her daughter was to be born in four days and hadn’t shown any sign of making her appearance early. It was good for Louis, who was coming home today, but Lyla was going crazy. Her back constantly ached, she had to pee every two seconds, and she was so hungry all the time, all she wanted to do was cry (and often did). In the last month, she felt like her belly had doubled in size.

Maya and Mateo met Lyla, August, and Ben at the airport where they would soon be seeing Louis and Marshall again. They were even excited to see the other band mates whose families were also waiting in anticipation. The five of them sat at a café, watching the arrivals board, and became ecstatic when they saw the boys’ plane had landed. They waited a little while longer, knowing the process through customs and baggage claim would take a while and that Lyla would struggle to stand for too long.

After one more trip to the bathroom, the crew headed over to the arrivals gate, ready to welcome the boys back.

When the sliding door opened, and The Connelly Brothers stepped through, Lyla zeroed in on Louis who seemed just as excited to see her, even if she was a whale, as she was to see him. Next to her, Maya ducked under the barrier with Mateo in tow and shrieked as she met a grinning Marshall. Louis didn’t bother to go around the barrier either; he met Lyla at the metal divider, held her face in both of his hands, and kissed her with every bit of longing he could muster. When he pulled away, it was because his youngest son was hugging his leg and saying “dadada” over and over again. He crouched under the barrier and picked Ben up as he stood again. He clung to his father’s neck as Louis pulled August in for a long-awaited hug. “Christ, I missed you guys,” Louis said as he released August.

Lyla brushed her hands through his longer-than-usual hair, “are you hungry? Did the flight go okay? Did you manage to get some sleep?” She wrapped her arm around his one and leaned against him.

“I’m hungry,” he nodded, “but would rather sleep. I feel like I’m goin’ to pass out. Couldn’t sleep at all on the plane.”

They greeted the others and once they were content that they had said hello to everyone, the different families went their separate ways. The cab ride back to Lyla and Louis’ home wasn’t too long, but Louis was struggling to stay awake every step of the way. At home, Lyla got August to carry Louis’ things into the house and sent her husband straight up to their room to sleep. She would wake him in a few hours for some food.

Louis trudged up the stairs without complaint and fell onto the bed, not bothering to undress, falling asleep almost immediately.

While he slept, Lyla ordered takeout food from some of Louis’ favourite places so that he could get a taste of home that didn’t involve Lyla’s inability to cook like he could. After a couple hours of uninterrupted napping, she woke him up by laying down next to him and stroking his hair.

He groaned and stretched before opening his eyes and smiling, “hi.”

Lyla laughed. “Hi.” She kissed him, “I have some food ready for you.”

“What’d you make?”

“I didn’t make anything,” she clarified. “I wouldn’t do that to you on your first night back.”

He laughed and then coughed, his throat dry beyond belief. Louis stretched again and then sat up, “I feel like I could sleep for days.”

“I’ll let you get back to bed right after if you like. You need to eat something though.” She positioned herself so that she could catapult out of the bed, immediately regretting her decision to lie next to him.

“What in Christ are you doin’?” He laughed as she flopped around helplessly.

“I’ve had to get creative to get out of bed. It usually takes a while.”

Louis grabbed both of her hands, “well, it’s a good thing I’m back to help with things like this.”

She smiled and held onto his hands tightly as he pulled her to her feet. “I think this is my favourite thing about you being home,” she sighed.

“Well, just wait until I start givin’ you feet and back rubs. You’ll wonder how you even functioned when I was gone.”

She hugged him, “I already do. I’m so happy you’re home. And that you didn’t miss our daughter’s birth.”

“Me too.” He kissed her, “but hopefully she makes her debut soon.”

“Agreed.”

Louis held Lyla’s arm as she waddled down the stairs next to him. In the dining room, the table was filled with food from Louis’ favourite Chinese, Italian, and burger restaurants, and his mouth began watering immediately, even if the food combination was bizarre. “This is perfect,” he said, sitting with Lyla, August and Ben already digging in.

The family gorged themselves on food that probably wasn’t great for them but tasted delicious. They discussed the good things that had happened since Louis had been gone, and he told them stories about his trip that he hadn’t yet shared or had shared but forgot about. They were just happy to hear his voice again, live and in person.

Afterwards, they cleaned up together and watched TV for a bit until it was time for Ben’s bedtime (and Louis’ by association). Lyla had missed putting Ben to bed with her husband. Together, they gave him a bath and read him a bedtime story before laying him into his crib, putting on his nightlight, and exiting the room quietly.

“I’m goin’ to say goodnight to August. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Lyla nodded, “I’m going to hop in the shower.”

Louis went to the basement where August was sitting, strumming his guitar silently. “Hey, man. How’s it goin’?”

August set his guitar down, “good. I’m happy you’re home.”

“And it’s not just because I can handle your mam’s mood swings?” he joked.

August laughed, “that’s part of it. Are you going to start doing shows in New York again?”

Louis nodded, “yeah, we’ll start doin’ a few shows in the new year. We’re goin’ to record another album too though, so we’ll mostly be doin’ that.”

“Will you go on another tour after that?”

Louis slowly nodded, “I think that comes with the territory. But hopefully we can keep it close to home. I don’t know when it’d be.”

August nodded but said nothing.

“Listen, I just wanted to come say goodnight. I’ll see you in the mornin’ and then you can show me some of the new songs you’ve been writin’.”

“Sure,” August smiled. “See you in the morning.”

Louis turned off the main floor lights and checked the front and back door locks before heading upstairs into his and Lyla’s bedroom and closing the door behind him. The shower was running, and he thought he’d join his wife, needing a shower himself anyway. She was facing away from the door when he walked in, and the glass doors were fogged so that all he could see was her silhouette. Lyla, in her very pregnant state, constantly called herself fat and felt like she weighed a literal tonne, but Louis very much liked the look of her despite the way she felt about herself. Her stomach was large and stretched to accommodate the child that would soon be introducing herself, and the lines of her body curved softly beyond just her stomach. He hadn’t seen her fully naked since she visited him in London, and she was very much changed. It amazed him what her body was capable of. She turned around to rinse the conditioner out of her hair and let out a short exclamation when she saw him, “don’t do that!”

Louis chuckled, “sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Why are you just standing there?”

“Just admirin’ the view.” Even though he couldn’t say for certain, he was sure she rolled her eyes.

“Please. This,” she motioned to her body, “is a disaster.”

Louis shook his head, “not from where I’m standin’. Mind if I join you?”

“Yes!” she said, “there isn’t enough room anyway. Let the pregnant lady wallow.”

“Lyla…”

“Please, love, just let me finish up. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Louis sighed, wrapped a towel around his waist, and made his way to the main bathroom for a quick shower. When he got back to the room, the main light was off, but the table lamps were on. Lyla was in a nightgown and sitting in the newly added armchair in the corner of the room, applying lotion to her legs and feet with obvious struggle.

“Let me help,” Louis insisted, kneeling in front of her and taking the bottle of lotion.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning back into the chair and closing her eyes.

He massaged the lotion into her skin and spent a moment massaging the muscles in each calf before rubbing her swollen feet as promised. “I miss bein’ alone with you. Been around men for far too long.”

Lyla chuckled soundlessly. “I miss being around a functioning adult.”

“You think I’m a functioning adult?” he asked in mock surprise.

Lyla laughed. “Most of the time.”

He stood and shared a kiss with her. “Need me to moisturize anywhere else? Or can I interest you in a back massage?”

“Aren’t you tired?” she asked, though he suspected that wasn’t the reason she was deflecting.

“I’m on my second wind. C’mon, beautiful.” He sat on the edge of their bed and waited for her.

She hesitated and joined him on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be back to normal after she’s born.”

“I don’t know why you’re self-conscious, Lyla. You’re growing a child.”

Lyla sighed, “I know. But I haven’t kept active and I’ve put on so much weight—”

“I don’t think you put on as much weight as you think. Aside from our daughter, you haven’t changed much.”

She scoffed, “that’s a lie—”

“It’s not,” he interrupted. “When I saw you in the shower, I didn’t think ‘wow, she gained weight’, I thought ‘what a beautiful woman’ and ‘how lucky am I?’ Your body amazes me every time I see it, whether you’re carryin’ a child or not. How can you be carryin’ my child and have such beautiful lines from the pregnancy and think yourself anythin’ less than extraordinary in my eyes?”

Lyla shook her head, “I hate how you know all the right things to say.”

He chuckled, “there’s nothing that I say that I don’t a hundred percent mean.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, “help me out of this thing.”

He pulled her nightgown over her head, revealing the large baby bump and enlarged breasts. Louis kissed her and then knelt behind her on the bed to give her his promised back rub. She didn’t realize how much she needed the massage until he started. He took the opportunity to rub lotion in her back, which she was exceedingly grateful for, having gone months with any form of moisturizer on her back, unable to reach it as she got too big. While he massaged, Louis sang softly a song that Lyla hadn’t yet heard.

“I like that one,” she whispered, feeling completely at ease and no longer worried about her husband seeing her stretched body.

“It’s for you,” he replied after he hummed the final notes.

“Thank you.”

He kissed her shoulder and massaged the rest of the lotion on her back into her skin. “Finished.”

She stood up with some assistance and turned to kiss him, “I think for the first time in three months, my muscles aren’t killing me. Thank you.”

“Any time, love.” He pulled back the bed covers while Lyla went to the bathroom and slid beneath the warm duvet, the cold from the outside feeling like it was still surrounding him after spending the last couple of months in constant heat and humidity.

She joined him shortly and slid into the bed next to him. “Since you’re here,” she said, “I’m going to use you as my pregnancy pillow. I hope you’re up for the task.”

He chuckled, “I’ll do my best to make you proud.”

Lyla turned off the light on her side of the bed and as soon as she was in bed, Louis did the same with the lamp on his side. She then curled up close to him, resting their now sleeping child against his side so that she felt supported, and crossing her leg over his so that she found some comfort. It took some time for her to fall asleep, but Louis was out as soon as she was settled.

When he woke up feeling wide awake, it was still dark out. He looked at the bedside clock, which read 3AM. Both he and Lyla were in the same position they had been when they fell asleep, and he felt refreshed but wished it was later in the morning. Jetlag would be a problem for him, he was sure of it.

He placed his hand on Lyla’s round stomach and his heart leapt; he could feel their daughter doing what felt like gymnastics in her mother’s womb. Lyla’s face was scrunched up from their restless child, but she was still asleep, if just barely. Louis kept his hand on her stomach and in a few short moments, his daughter settled down. He grinned to himself, glad that he got to feel her moving around before she entered the world. Being away, he knew he had missed a lot and hated the idea of missing little things like that. It was like his daughter had sensed that and was trying to help him fit in those little things before she entered the outside world.

With nothing else to hold his attention, he slid out of bed, replacing his body with Lyla’s beloved pillow, which he imagined she needed a whole lot more now than she did for her pregnancy with Ben. He decided to go for a run around their neighbourhood, which he hadn’t done for quite some time. Louis dressed as quietly as he could and crept out of the master bedroom and down the stairs. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and long sweats but gasped as he opened the door. It probably wasn’t as cold as he thought, at least in terms of temperature, but it felt like it had never been colder. He pulled on a wool hat to cover his ears and set off on his run, soon warmed by his body’s activity. It was hard to believe that they had only been in the house a year. It was home and felt like it was exactly where they were meant to be.

So much had changed in that past year, it was mind-boggling to think about. A real tour overseas, an entire pregnancy after doubt about whether they would get pregnant at all, quitting his job. He’d have to see whether or not he’d need to start a new job or if music could be his fulltime gig. They did very well on the tour and sold out of their merchandise that they set up each night. The downloads on iTunes had shot up and the label wanted another album, so they were still in demand. Even more so now. For a long time, he had guilt for halting the band’s progress all those years ago, but it was less now. Maybe they could’ve gone further if they signed earlier, but Louis wasn’t sure he’d want to be in a state of fame much further beyond where he stood now. He still wanted to be able to go out with his family and live in their house and do normal things that real fame wouldn’t allow. And he didn’t think anyone in the band could handle real fame either. Someone like Marshall might get into hard drugs or drink more than he did now, which was already bordering on alcoholism, and end up destroying his life, and that’s the last thing Louis would want to see. No, all they needed was enough money to sustain themselves in the same way any other salaried job would sustain them.

Louis arrived back home feeling invigorated and even more awake than he had already been. It wouldn’t be light for another couple of hours and no one from his family would be up before then, so he could get a few things done.

He took off his shoes and hat at the door and walked into the living room, shedding his now too-long shirt as he did so. His breath beginning to even out, he stretched the muscles in his body until he was feeling loose, limber, and relaxed. After a quick shower in the main bathroom, he took his suitcase from where he had left it at the bottom of the stairs and opened it. Underneath his clothes, which he would need to wash, he had hidden a variety of Christmas gifts from his travels around Europe and Asia. From the office, he took the bin of wrapping materials and got to work. Most of the items weren’t in a box and his wrapping job with boxes wasn’t great at the best of times, so the result was a collection of items looking like Ben had taken it upon himself to wrap gifts. Louis chuckled to himself as he placed the gifts under the tree and then cleaned up.

It was still too early to make breakfast for anyone, but he grabbed a granola bar for himself and checked on the ingredient situation. It had been a long while since he had the opportunity to cook anything, and he was excited to be back in the kitchen. He knew that they usually had pancakes on Christmas morning, but who knew when their daughter would actually arrive? And no one would say no to pancakes twice in two weeks anyway. He decided he’d make pancakes with bacon and sausage but would wait until the household started waking up.

Louis went back to his bedroom to get his laptop from his carry on. He would spend time updating their social media or checking emails or whatever else until people started waking up.

“What are you doing?” Lyla’s tired voice came from the bed just as Louis pulled out his laptop case.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

She shook her head, though Louis couldn’t see. “Come here.”

He placed his laptop on top of his bag and went to join his wife.

“How long have you been awake?” she asked as he slid into the covers next to her, noticing that he was dressed.

“Since about three,” he admitted. “Wide awake. Went for a run. Did a terrible job wrappin’ some presents. I’ll make breakfast a little while later. Just tryin’ to pass the time ‘til you’re all up,” he chuckled.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, unable to lean towards him.

He leaned over to her and kissed her lips, her neck, and her lips again before pulling away. Louis was so desperate for her, his longing having been built since London, but she was self-conscious and the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable. “I love you,” he said instead.

“I think…” she began before trailing off and biting her bottom lip.

“What is it?” he encouraged.

She took a deep breath. “I feel like the size of the moon, but I—” She giggled nervously, “I’ve been so—” She sighed, “I need you.”

Louis smiled, “I was just thinkin’ about how much I want you but didn’t want to push.”

Lyla was relieved and pulled him towards her, kissing him and holding onto his hair. It was shaggier than he liked, but she enjoyed how much easier it was to hold onto. She lifted his shirt so that she could run her hands over his stomach and chest. He took his shirt off for her and helped her sit up. However, as soon as she was sitting, she had to run to the bathroom to empty her bladder. Louis stifled a laugh and undressed so that when she was back, they were able to pick up where they left off. “I think,” she said, “it’ll be easiest of I’m on top.”

Louis didn’t care how it was done, so long as he could join his body with hers again.

They knelt on the bed, kissing and touching each other after so long apart until she pushed him onto his back and straddled him, using his knees to support her balance. They both sighed as he entered her and as she began moving on him. Her body was more sensitive than it would be without the pregnancy and she felt that every movement sent shockwaves coursing through her. She leaned forward onto Louis’ hands and moved her hips purposefully, moaning her husbands name, which only served to excite him further. He took hold of her hips and thrust up into her. She grasped his forearms to steady herself, digging her nails into his skin as she shuddered with pleasure. He continued, driving her crazy in the best possible way, until he came.

Both breathing heavily, Lyla slid off of Louis and lay herself carefully next to him. He smiled and pushed a stray curl from her face. She leaned close to him and gave him a kiss before turning away abruptly.

“What’s wrong, mo chroí?” he whispered.

Lyla turned back to him to reveal tears running down her face. She threw her hands in the air in disbelief at her state and Louis laughed.

“Why’re you cryin’?”

“Fuck if I know,” she laughed. “I am really happy though.”

“Happy tears are okay,” he said, kissing her cheek where the salty tears were staining her skin. “If I were pregnant, I’d be crying happy tears too.”

Lyla laughed and cuddled up close to him. He threw the covers over the two of them and watched as Lyla fell back to sleep. Her soft, even breaths and warm skin soon lulled him to sleep again as well.

* * *

On Christmas morning, the Connellys did their usual pancake breakfast and gifts before going back to sleep. To the annoyance of Lyla, she was still very pregnant. The due date had come and passed, and she was both irritated and worried. She had visited the doctor who assured her that everything continued to look positive, and they set a date for induced labour on the 27th. Lyla did every tip possible about inducing labour naturally and spent most days pacing or bouncing on an exercise ball or having sex with her husband. But their daughter was stubborn.

She and Louis woke from their Christmas morning nap, forced to do so because of an antsy child down the hall.

“I’ll get him,” Louis coughed, sick with a cold, which he figured was due in part to the drastic climate change he experienced arriving back in New York during winter. “You get some sleep.”

Lyla was far too exhausted to argue and went back to sleep.

As soon as Louis was in the living room with Ben who was eager to play with new toys, the phone rang. Louis answered it quickly to avoid waking anyone else up.

His voice was quiet and strained from his cold as he croaked, “hello?”

There was silence for a moment as the person on the other end tried to figure out who was speaking, “hello, it’s Lyla’s father.”

“Ah, hello sir. Sorry about the voice. It’s Louis.”

“Oh, hello Louis. Do you have a cold?”

“Yeah. Figure it’s the comin’ from one extreme to the next. Merry Christmas.”

“Yes! That’s why I was calling. Merry Christmas. Is Lyla available?”

“She’s havin’ a bit of a nap right now. We woke up early, opened presents, ate breakfast, and went back to bed. Ben had other plans, so I’m up with him. August’s asleep too.”

“Oh, well tell her to give me a call when she has a chance. Is she doing okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. A little more moody than usual and lookin’ forward to gettin’ induced.”

“I would think so. How did your tour go?”

“Yeah, it was really good. I didn’t like bein’ away from home for so long, but it was good to see the world and the different fans. We’ll be startin’ our third album come February but have a bit of a break until then.”

“That will be good. I’m going to let you go, Louis. Wish your family a merry Christmas for me and I’ll talk to Lyla later.”

“Yes, sir. Bye.”

* * *

Being induced into labour is a much quieter affair than labour that happens on its own. On the morning of the 27th, Louis and Lyla headed to the hospital with the bags that had been packed the night before. Everyone was well-rested and there was no immediate hurry or worry. It was peaceful. Sure, Lyla wished her daughter would have already joined them in the real world, but she was also really enjoying the lack of urgency as the cab drove them to the hospital while August looked after his brother at home.

At the hospital, they checked in much as they would for a stay in a hotel, and Lyla was blissfully at ease.

That soon ended.

Once Lyla was induced, the labour began almost immediately, much to the surprise of the nurses who had told she and Louis to expect some waiting. But the contractions came fast, the water broke fast, and the active labour itself was much shorter than Lyla had experienced with Ben, though in no way any less painful or amazing.

Just as he had with Ben, he watched in amazement as his daughter burst forth into the world, dark hair like his own atop her temporarily misshapen head.

“It’s a beautiful baby girl,” the doctor announced on Lyla’s final push.

Louis cut the cord and joined his wife to admire their daughter for the moment, noting that she looked just like Ben had – a squished little thing with downturned lips and wrinkles galore. But he had dreamed of their little girl and knew that she would soon have her mother’s curls and eyes.

Both Lyla and Louis had tears in their eyes as they took in every finger and toe and little wrinkle in her skin. Soon, she was taken to be cleaned and weighed while Lyla birthed the placenta.

When their daughter was returned to them, Louis sat next to Lyla, holding his little girl who was cranky about being forced to leave her warm home. They were left alone for a moment to spend some time with the new addition to their family before nurses returned to check baby and mother again.

“Do you know what you’re going to name the little angel?” one of the nurses asked as she took Lyla’s blood pressure.

“Molly,” she said, “after Louis’ mother. Her middle name will be Elzbieta after my mother. They’ve both passed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the nurse said, sounding sincere. “But what a beautiful way to honour them.”

“Thanks,” Louis said.

“When can we go home?” Lyla asked suddenly.

The nurse laughed, “not for another couple of hours. Until the doctor gives the go-ahead. We want to be one hundred percent when it comes to yours and Molly’s health, then you’ll be able to leave. I’ll let the doctor know you’re eager though,” she winked.

“Thank you,” Lyla smiled. She didn’t want people visiting her in the hospital. Instead, she’d prefer to be on her home turf where she could pretend she wasn’t home if she wanted to and where she wouldn’t have to be woken up endlessly by nurses checking in on her and where the food was miles better because her husband would be making it.

Luckily, she was given a clean bill of health and sent on her way roughly an hour later so that the three of them were home by two o’clock. It was a blur, and everything happened so fast. Lyla was more than okay with her final child being more or less a walk in the park.

Back at the house, Marshall, Maya, and Mateo were waiting to greet the new Connelly, along with August and Ben. Lyla was immediately overwhelmed and decided that the best way to handle everyone was to banish them into the living room while she and Molly sat on the armchair in the master bedroom. First, Louis brought Ben and August to see their sister. August was much more comfortable at the prospect of holding an infant than he had been with Ben. He cooed and talked to his sister while Louis set Ben up in the armchair and Lyla documented the moment with her camera.

Then, Louis took Molly and knelt next to the armchair so that he could both place the infant in Ben’s lap, but also hold her so that he didn’t knock her down as a young one might be apt to do. He didn’t move though. As soon as his little sister was in his lap, his arms under her, the only thing he moved was his head. He was in awe of the little baby and giggled with every little movement or twitch she made. Then he babbled about how he would play outside with her when it got to be warmer along with everything else he would be able to do with his big brother and baby sister. He was very excited.

Then Lyla allowed the rest of the family in the bedroom to see Molly. Maya held her eagerly and made a face at Marshall that suggested she wanted one too. Mateo was abnormally quiet, having been told to be as quiet as a mouse by his father otherwise he wouldn’t get to hold his cousin. They set him up in the same way as they did Ben. Mateo was a lot more inquisitive about why the baby was sleeping and why she was named Molly and why she was so tiny and what she liked to eat and a million other questions, all of which were recorded on Lyla’s camera.

Soon, Lyla and Louis said goodbye to Marshall’s family and were left to settle in with the new addition to their family, who, it turns out, was not very happy about no longer being in her mother’s womb. They achieved a few hours of quiet reverence and joy until Molly realized she could make her frustrations heard. For the next few days, Louis and Lyla got very little sleep. For the time being, they had Molly in a bassinet by their bed for quick middle of the night feedings, but the infant was awake more than she was asleep. And because they were spending so much time focusing on Molly, Ben started acting up as well. They divided and conquered, switching roles between baby and toddler to keep from going insane. August helped as much as he could, but Lyla tried to convince him that they were fine without his help, not wanting him to feel like he had to take on the role of parent just because he was the oldest.

Lyla’s father visited them on New Year’s Eve, where they would have a quiet night together with family, a night out being far too ambitious at the moment. August was given the go ahead to spend New Year’s Eve with Anna and her family, though Lyla suspected that they were going out elsewhere, so it was just Louis and Lyla trapped with the youngest Connellys.

Thomas brought over sparkling cider and finger foods along with welcoming gifts for his newest grandchild and Christmas gifts for his grandsons. Holding Molly, he commented on how much she looked like Lyla had as an infant, and thanked the parents for honouring his late wife, even so many years after her death. He seemed genuinely touched and Lyla was happy.

“Papa,” Ben said as Thomas doted on his granddaughter.

“Yes, Benjamin.”

“Play,” he said, holding up one of his new toy cars.

“Papa’s spending time with Molly right now,” Lyla intervened. “You need to wait your turn.”

“My turn!” Ben demanded, throwing down his car.

Louis stood from the armchair in which he was sitting. “Right, let’s go,” he said, scooping the toddler who was forming a full-blown tantrum and screamed at the mention of a time out.

“What does he have to do for timeout?” Thomas asked as the toddler’s voice faded up the stairs and into his room.

Lyla smiled, “there’s a chair in his room that he has to sit in whenever he starts verging on a tantrum – throwing things, saying mean things (at least by toddler standards), or whatever else. He thinks it’s the worst thing in the world even though all he has to do is sit there silently for two minutes by which time he has calmed down.”

“And that works?”

“Surprisingly well,” Lyla nodded. “We’ve been doing it long enough that it’s normal. We talk to him about why he was in timeout and then he has to apologize before he can go back to doing what he was doing. When he comes down, he’ll apologize to you. Just thank him and tell him that the apology is accepted.”

Thomas nodded, “I like that. Excellent idea. I never had to think of anything like that for you. You were always so well-behaved, even as a toddler.”

“Was I?” Lyla had never really talked about her time as a child with her father.

“You were,” he nodded. “As a baby, you rarely cried, and you slept through the night almost immediately. It was very easy.”

“They must get it from Louis then,” she joked.

Louis came down with Ben a couple of moments later, the toddler placated. Ben was set on the floor and said, “sorry mama being mad.”

Lyla gave him a kiss and said, “thank you, Ben. Apology accepted.”

Then Ben went to his grandfather and said, “sorry papa throwing car.”

Thomas gave him a one-sided hug, hindered by the infant in his arm, “thank you Ben, I accept your apology. I’d like to play with you in a bit. Give me five more minutes with Molly and then you can show me your new cars, okay?”

Ben was very happy with the offer and joined his grandfather on the sofa to admire his baby sister and tell him everything he had learned about babies so far including what they eat, how much they cry, and how smelly they can get (Ben himself starting to use the potty for number two and quite proud of the fact).

Once it started to get dark, Ben was off to bed, and Molly was put down as well, though they were prepared for her to wake throughout the night. They brought the baby monitor into the living room so that Lyla, Louis, and Thomas could sit and converse together and watch the ball drop. Unfortunately, not one of them could stay awake late enough to watch this. Thomas went to sleep in the spare bedroom in the basement while Louis and Lyla went to bed in their own room, ringing in the new year with well-deserved rest.


	40. June 2012

_June 2012_

Louis and Lyla were met with loud soft rock roaring from the basement when they got home from Molly and Ben’s doctor’s appointment. This promptly resulted in Molly waking and screaming, which caused Lyla to look up at the ceiling in irritation. It had taken the baby ages to stop crying after her shots and, in general, the kid seemed to cry endlessly.

"I've got it," Louis said, setting Ben down, who happily B-lined for his toy box in the living room. Louis then walked to the top of the basement stairs and shouted down, "August, man, you've gotta turn it down!" But the music was too loud for his voice to be heard. He trotted down the stairs towards the stereo but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of his son with his girlfriend doing something Louis would rather have not witnessed.

He closed his eyes, laughed to himself, and turned his back to the scene. "August!" he shouted as loud as he possibly could. A moment later, the music was off but there was silence from the teenagers. "Listen, man, you need to keep the music down. Mam's not happy. And," he added, "you need to keep certain things in your room, yeah?" Without another word or waiting to hear if August had anything to say, he jogged back up the stairs.

Lyla was sitting in the living room, trying to feed their fussy daughter when Louis sat beside her. "Thank you," she said breathlessly, hoping that the quiet would help lull Molly a little more. She looked over at Louis who was trying to stifle laughter. "What is it?"

"I think we need to set some boundaries for August and his girl," he smirked.

"Anna's here?" Lyla asked before her expression changed. "Oh no. No. What happened?!"

"Uh... caught him goin' down on the girl."

Lyla scrunched up her face, "no! I shouldn't have asked."

"Why he's not stickin' to the bedroom, I've no idea."

"God, they must be mortified," she laughed. "But it could've been worse." She thought for a moment. "Do you think... He's not doing more than that, is he?"

Louis shook his head, "I don't know. I'll talk to him after about it. Give ‘em a chance to recover."

"Poor kid."

A few moments later, August and Anna came up the stairs. Louis and Lyla made a noted effort to avoid looking at them.

With a red face and eyes focused on the floor, Anna said, "I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry yourself," Louis replied, trying his hardest to keep his face devoid of humour.

Without another word to August or his parents, she retreated from the house in order to recover from embarrassment.

August began to retreat into the basement himself.

"August, I'll need to talk to you," Louis called after his son.

August replied with a "mhmm" before disappearing down the stairs.

Louis and Lyla immediately burst into laughter, which Molly wasn't too thrilled about. "Here," Louis said, "I'll go put her down for a nap." He took his daughter from his wife and headed up the stairs as the home phone rang. Molly was a lot more vocal than he remembered Ben being. It had settled down a little recently, but she still had issues sleeping through the night or sitting quietly for more than a couple of hours. Neither Lyla nor Louis were well-rested enough to do anything other than be parents and it was starting to create some friction between them the more short-tempered they became.

He set Molly down in her crib, singing to her as soothingly as he could muster, but she was having none of it. As he and Lyla often did, he finished up his song, darkened her room, and let her cry herself to sleep. It had been tough at first, tugging at their heartstrings and causing guilt, but frustration made it a lot easier. And now, she was falling asleep a lot quicker than she used to, so it was working.

Louis used the bathroom to have a moment of quiet before heading back downstairs to have a very awkward conversation with his eldest son. He was stopped, however, by a frantic wife pacing the living room while booking what sounded like a rental car.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked to which she held up her hand until she was done on the phone.

“My dad’s in the hospital. I’m going to rent a car and drive down there,” she said, setting the phone on its cradle.

“Is he okay? Do you want me to come?”

“No, no,” she waved him off. “Stay here. Talk to August. They said he was in a car accident. I’ll call you when I get there and have more information. I’ve got to go. Love you.” She grabbed her purse and was out the door without another word.

“Where mama going?” Ben asked, hugging his father’s leg.

“Papa needs her so she’s going to see him,” he replied, picking his son up.

“I want see papa!”

“Let’s go play outside for a bit, yeah?” Louis suggested, trying to take his son’s focus off of his grandfather. It worked, and they spent a little bit of time outside until it was time for Ben to be put down for his nap as well. Then Louis decided it was time to talk to August. He knocked hesitantly on his son’s door, “August, can we talk, man?”

There was silence for a moment and then August quietly said, “come in.”

Louis opened the bedroom door and entered the dark room. August was sitting at his desk with his composing program open on his laptop and his guitar propped against the desk. He didn’t turn around but instead stared intently at his computer screen, not really seeing anything. Louis sat on the edge of his made bed and sighed, “what’re you workin’ on?”

“It’s kind of a secret right now,” August murmured back.

Louis nodded, “well, first off, I want to let you know that your grandpa’s in the hospital.”

August spun his chair around, “what?”

“Yeah, your mam got a call and is on her way down. She’ll let us know how he’s doin’ when she gets there in a few hours. She’s drivin’ down.”

“What happened?”

“They told her it was a car accident but didn’t say much else. At least, that’s all she told me before boltin’ out the door. I’ll keep you posted.” Louis paused and cleared his throat, “now, the awkward bit.”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” August quickly jumped in. “I know it was stupid, not keeping it in my room. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s not just that, man,” Louis sighed. He was pretty sure that everything he learned about sex and the safe practice of it was from Marshall who was always able to be a lot more straightforward and shameless about the subject. He never remembered having a sit-down talk about the topic, however. “We need to know that you’re bein’ smart about things. Your mam and I were idiots when we met, and you’re younger than we were then. If you’re doin’ more with Anna, we just need to know that you’re bein’ smart about it.”

Even in the dark room, August’s face was visibly red. “We…” he began but quieted himself, embarrassment getting the best of him.

Louis knew how the kid felt but soldiered on, deciding to be as blunt as possible, “do you and Anna have sex?”

August nodded reluctantly.

“Do you use protection? Condoms?”

August nodded again.

“Okay,” Louis stood. “Just keep it in the bedroom and come to me if you ever have any trouble, yeah?”

August nodded a final time, eager for the conversation to be over with.

Louis left his son to his own devices and escaped the room as quickly as he could, thankful that he didn’t need to go into more detail and hopeful that his son was being honest. He figured Marshall would’ve got to him a lot earlier anyway. The last thing he and Lyla needed was their son following in their footsteps.

* * *

Lyla arrived at the hospital in Rochester in the late afternoon following a four-and-a-half-hour drive. Her father had been in intensive care after being involved in a hit and run while crossing the street on foot. The driver had clearly been speeding and her father was knocked out cold. Doctors explained the extent of his injuries and that there wasn’t anything they could have done to help him; he had passed away from injuries sustained causing internal bleeding.

She sat at his bedside, holding his stiffening hand. Their relationship was on good terms for the first time since she could remember, and he was so excited about having a granddaughter. How could the universe be so cruel?

As the orderlies came to roll Thomas Novacek into the morgue, Lyla’s phone rang. She checked it to see home calling. “Hello?” she solemnly answered.

“What happened?” Louis’ voice returned, noting something off in her voice.

“He’s dead,” she said simply. “He died before I got here.”

“Shit. Lyla, I’m so sorry. What do you need me to do?”

She shook her head, “I don’t know. I guess I have to stay here and sort everything out. I didn’t bring any clothes. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want us to come out there? Or just me? I can see if Maya or Marshall will come take care of Ben and Mol.”

Lyla thought silently for a moment, “I don’t know.”

“Lyla, do you want me to come?”

“Yes.”

“Let me give Marshall a call and I’ll call you back right away.”

Lyla ended the call and gave her cell number to the hospital for contact regarding her father’s remains. She dropped the rental car at another location and bussed back to her father’s home, having been given his personal effects, which included his keys. Louis had called back and assured her that he would catch a flight the following day after ensuring Marshall and Maya were set up to keep an eye on the household.

He arrived late afternoon with a bag for himself and a bag for Lyla. Though he felt weird, he didn’t knock on his father-in-law’s door, but instead opened it and called for his wife as he stepped in.

“In the dining room!” she called back.

He set the bags down and went to find his wife at the dining room table, which was covered by various papers and sticky notes. “Lyla.”

She looked up for a brief moment before continuing with what she was doing, “hi, love. Thank you for coming. Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, everyone’s fine. How’re you doin’? What’s all this?” Louis sat down opposite his wife.

“I’m fine. I met with his lawyer this morning to figure everything out. This is his will, wishes for his funeral, different people I’ve talked to about the service. I’ve booked a nearby church for Thursday, but I want to hold a memorial next week in Chicago as well for people out of town who can’t make it. People from Chicago mostly. I’m figuring out who will be able to attend what.”

He doubted she was fine. It felt like she was trying to keep busy so that she didn’t have to think about how she felt. “What can I do to help?”

“I found his address book. Can you start calling and just see if they’ll be able to attend the funeral?” She passed a sticky note to him, “here’s the address and time. Or see if they can attend the memorial, which will be-” she searched the table for the right piece of paper and passed it to Louis. “It will be there next Saturday.”

Louis nodded and got to work. The man had many contacts all over the United States, Europe, and parts of Asia. He was well-travelled and certainly made his mark on the world. Thomas also seemed to be well-liked. Almost everyone that he called said they would attend the funeral or the memorial, or if they couldn’t make it, send flowers or money in their absence. It took him a couple of repetitive hours to get through everyone. When he was done, he checked the fridge for something he could make a meal out of while Lyla showered and changed into fresh clothes.

He tidied the dining room table into more manageable piles and set them off to the side, serving he and his wife pork steaks with mushroom sauce and vegetables in the now-clear space.

“Thank you,” she smiled, sitting in her spot from before, opposite her husband. “It looks great.”

They ate quietly at first before Lyla began asking about her children, “how was Molly when you left?”

“She was good. Warned them it wouldn’t last, but Maya seemed excited to be there.”

“She said she wants more kids but didn’t think Marshall would go for it.”

“They can treat this as a test run then, I guess.”

“Did you talk to August?”

He smirked, “yeah. I’d rather not have that discussion again.”

“Are they…?”

“He says they’re havin’ sex and bein’ safe about it. I have a feelin’ Marshall might’ve got to him before he even had a girl. Kid was too embarrassed to do more than nod when I asked him questions.”

She shook her head, “I wish I didn’t know.”

“At least he’s healthy and happy,” Louis shrugged. “He could be doin’ worse things.”

“I guess you’re right.”

They finished their meal in silence and Lyla rinsed and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

“Would you listen to that?” Louis commented as he wiped down the dining room table and kitchen counter.

“What?” She heard nothing.

“No crying babies, no whining toddlers, no degenerate teenagers,” he listed off, smiling.

Lyla forced a smile, “sure. It’s nice.”

“I need you to talk to me,” he replied, noting the distance between her words and her tone.

“I’m okay, Louis. Really.”

“You’re not,” he pushed. “I’d like to think I know you pretty well. Tell me what you’re feelin’.”

“I’m going to go for a run,” she said. “Will you come with me?”

In a desperate effort to get back in shape after her pregnancy, Lyla had asked Louis to take her on his runs while she got back into yoga and boxing. The repeated routine actually got her interested in running and she enjoyed spending the time with her husband. It was also a great stress release.

They ran a random route around the neighbourhood for an hour before they had to look at their phones to find out how to get back to the Novacek house.

“Ready to talk yet?” Louis asked as they lost their shoes at the front door.

“No,” Lyla replied simply.

“Lyla,” he grunted.

“Louis!” she exclaimed, “just leave me be. If I start talking, I’ll lose it and I need to keep it together until everything is figured out. We have to get the kids out here for the funeral in a couple of days and I need to make sure everyone who is coming will have somewhere to stay. And that the florists and caterers are all confirmed. And that everything is perfect like he would’ve wanted. So, I can’t talk right now. I need you to let it go until I have time to think.” She stormed off towards the master bath for a soak in the jacuzzi tub while Louis looked stupidly after her.

The next morning, Louis flew back to pick up a rental car and his kids. Lyla’s outburst was unexpected but not surprising. She hadn’t been as open with him as she used to be. The lack of time alone together meant they barely had time to talk, let alone think. They hadn’t been intimate since before Molly’s birth, neither parent seeming to be in the mood at the same time as the other, and he couldn’t remember the last time they even kissed, including even the quickest of pecks. It made sense that Lyla wasn’t as comfortable and loose-lipped with her thoughts and feelings as she once was with him. But it didn’t make the feeling of helplessness any less painful for Louis.

“How’re things up there?” Marshall asked as Louis packed Ben and Molly’s bags for a couple of weeks.

“Ah,” Louis shrugged.

“That good?”

“Lyla won’t talk to me, so I don’t know.”

Marshall was genuinely concerned, “that… doesn’t sound normal, Lou.”

“Nope.” He zipped up the diaper bag full of as much that he could fit in it and set it on the floor. “It’ll be fine. We’ll get through it.”

Marshall was at a bit of a loss for what to say and simply patted his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, so… I don’t know if this is the best time to tell you this, but,” he raised a shoulder and let it drop, “me and Maya’ve started tryin’ for another kid.”

“She wore you down, huh?”

“How’d you know about this?”

“Lyla and Maya were talkin’ about it. She didn’t think you’d go for it.”

“Women,” he shook his head. “Yeah, well I blame you. Got everythin’ you need?”

“Think so.”

Louis packed August, Ben, and Molly in the car for their first road trip as a family in their current state. It was the worst five hours possible, Molly crying as she did, Ben crying because he was annoyed by his little sister, August tuning them out with the help of his head phones, and Louis trying and failing to placate the youngest Connellys with the terrible children’s music that usually soothed them. For a short time, all of his kids slept, but that was interrupted by someone cutting a giant semi off, which then honked its frustration. Louis felt like crying just as much as Ben and Molly but held it together until they pulled up to their late grandfather’s home. As soon as he put the car into park and turned it off, he leapt out of the car and stood in the silence, taking deep breaths to soothe himself.

“Louis?”

Lyla’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Is everything alright?”

“Five fuckin’ hours,” he snapped, “and they’ve barely stopped. They’re drivin’ me crazy.”

“Take the bags and go inside,” she instructed. “I’ll get them.”

Thankful, he did just that, cringing as he opened the trunk and heard the screaming cries once more. He disappeared inside the house, placed the bags in the foyer, and went into the basement for cover.

“August,” Lyla said, pulling his headphones off his head. “Can you please take Ben inside and away from Molly?”

“He’s been crying the whole time—”

“August, please,” she snapped.

He obeyed and took his complaining brother into the house while Lyla sat in the car with her daughter. “Baby,” she sighed. “You need to stop this. You’re making us crazy.” Molly continued to cry, red in the face, as Lyla unbuckled her and sat her in her lap, bouncing her gently. “What’s wrong, sunshine?” Lyla tried feeding her, checked her diaper, tried burping her, and anything else she could think of, but just like always, nothing worked. “Why are you crying?” she asked helplessly before starting to cry herself. Both Lyla and Molly sobbed until Louis’ voice came to interrupt them.

“My love. I’m sorry.” He leaned into the car and wrapped his arms around his girls until Lyla settled herself and sniffled, and Molly continued crying.

“I don’t get why she’s crying so much.” Her voice cracked, “what am I doing wrong?”

“It’s not you. It’s her.”

“I’m just—We’ve tried everything. How can she cry so much? How hasn’t she lost her voice yet?”

“Maybe she’ll be a singer,” Louis joked. “Maybe she’s gettin’ the rebellious stage over now.”

Lyla smiled, “no, she’s going to be a constant thorn in our sides.”

“Maybe that’s true too. Hey, I’ll go set up the playpen and we’ll put her down for a nap. Let her cry herself a bit. Ben’s just happy to be out of the car and he’s nappin’ in the livin’ room. Come with me to return the car.”

Lyla agreed. They put August in charge with the basic instruction to check on Molly if she stops crying to see that she’s okay, since it was so out of the norm, but to not wake her up if she fell asleep, no matter what.

Once in the car, they revelled in the silence, keeping the radio off and just listening to the soothing sound of a running car.

“Do you wanna go somewhere?” Louis asked. “Get somethin’ to eat and just sit somewhere before we return the car? Is there anythin’ else you need to do today?”

She shook her head, “I’ve done everything I can for today. I just hope Molly holds it together tomorrow. We can go somewhere.”

Louis turned the car towards the main road to find some take out that they could enjoy away from other people and somewhere silent. The previous night without children had been a Godsend even if the circumstances for being away from their children wasn’t ideal. But they had been able to sleep very well for the first time in six months and despite their present frustrations, they felt a lot less on edge.

They stopped at a chain taco place, ordered more food than they really needed, and drove to a secluded treed area overlooking the river. Still silent, though comfortable, they stuffed their faces with secret Mexican food that they knew they would later regret, tastier for the fact they didn’t have to share. Then they chatted about nothing in particular, simply happy and starting to feel a little like themselves.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to last tomorrow,” Lyla admitted, her mood suddenly more solemn. “I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn and had let him get closer to me faster.”

“He knew why there was the distance and didn’t blame you. He was happy with anythin’. He got to know his grandsons and meet his granddaughter. You’re da didn’t think you stubborn.”

Not feeling all that convinced, Lyla nodded.

“Hey,” Louis said. “If you feel yourself fallin’ apart tomorrow, just send a signal my way and I’ll come up. Either for moral support or to take over and BS my way through.”

“You may as well plan something out, because I know I won’t make it through. Actually, when we get back, could you take a look at the eulogy I wrote? I need another set of eyes.”

“’Course. Do you think we should head back?”

“I guess we have to at some point. There’s still the trip from the rental place to the house. We could take the bus for a little bit more time.”

He chuckled, “I like the way you think.”

The two did just that, getting home much later than they had anticipated. When they walked into the house, it was eerily quiet. No music, no cartoons, and certainly no crying. Lyla exchanged a nervous glance with her husband but didn’t call out, not wanting to wake Molly if she happened to be sleeping, which is who they first went to check on.

They had placed her in her late grandfather’s room since Lyla hadn’t wanted to sleep in her father’s bed and was keeping to the spare room. Opening the door as quietly as they could muster, they were happy to see Molly was indeed sleeping. But what they weren’t expecting was her to be sleeping on her grandfather’s bed in the crook of her oldest brother’s arm while her second-oldest brother slept similarly on August’s other side. Lyla quickly took her phone out of her back pocket to capture the moment, wishing she had brought her real camera down from Scarsdale. She and Louis crept out of the room and decided to spend some time in the backyard in order to avoid accidentally waking one or more of their children.

* * *

August was a baby-whisperer. There was no doubt in Lyla’s mind. One nap with her big brother, and Molly was suddenly happy and well-adjusted, crying if she was hungry or needed a change or was tired, but no longer crying for no reason that her parents could find like she had been for the past six months. He was somehow comforting to her just like he had been to Mateo when he was a newborn, and Lyla wondered why he had taken so long to work his voodoo. She was thankful though. The funeral would be hard enough as a daughter of the deceased without also having to be a stressed mother.

The Connellys arrived at the church roughly half an hour before people would begin arriving so that Lyla could greet everyone and iron out any last-minute details with the pastor. The church itself was modern without much ornate flourish found in older churches, but it was a good size with vaulted ceilings that favoured echoes.

Thomas Novacek had planned his funeral out down to the finest details in his will, which he seemed to update every six months or so. Like clockwork. He was an organized man and liked things in a certain way. The most important of his requests was that he be cremated so that he could more easily be transported back to Chicago where he would join his deceased wife in their shared cemetery plot. He was nothing if not practical.

As people began to arrive, Lyla stood with Louis and the pastor at the entrance to the church. People that Lyla vaguely remembered or couldn’t place at all filed in solemnly as Thomas Novacek’s favourite Vivaldi piece sounded from the hired string quartet near the front of the church. His photograph that he had favoured stared sternly out at the growing congregation, his appearance softened only by the addition of family photos chosen by Lyla showing him as he was before he passed: a happy and loved grandfather.

Once everyone was seated and the funeral was set to begin, the pastor began with a prayer and some favourable comments on the type of man Thomas Novacek was based on all that his friends and family had said. This was followed by another one of his favourite classical pieces as performed by the quartet. Then it was Lyla’s turn to speak. She had written and edited and re-written her eulogy so many times, she could hardly remember which version she was about to read. Louis had taken the time to read it himself and assured her it was perfect and said exactly what needed to be said.

“Good morning,” she spoke out to the collective souls staring up at her. She was not an orator and speaking in front of a class was very different; she could feel herself shaking with nerves, which wasn’t something she needed on top of mourning. But Louis had said to look at him when she spoke and that is what she did. He nodded his encouragement. “My name is Lyla and Thomas Novacek was my father. He was married to my mother Elzbieta, who died shortly after giving birth to me. My dad raised me on his own and as best as he could, always wanting my happiness. I didn’t always understand, and our relationship wasn’t ever all that strong. I resisted his wishes and always saw what he did as a means to control me rather than his way of showing love. I think he missed my mother a lot and became overprotective as a result.

“But he did so many good things for me. He introduced me to the cello at four years old, and I’ve been playing ever since. I’m a member of the New York Philharmonic as a result. His tutelage and influence led me to Juilliard when I was a teenager, which is where I am now an instructor. His love for music encouraged my love for music, which led me to my wonderful husband and our three beautiful children.

“We had our disagreements throughout my entire life and went for stretches at a time where we wouldn’t talk for months. It was always my doing and he knew not to push me otherwise it would take me longer to come around. I was stubborn. Sometimes I had good reasons to be and sometimes I held onto grudges for too long. But he never thought any less of me.

“It seems so strange… not to have him in our lives any longer.” She could feel tears beginning to build as she spoke and heard her voice cracking, so she cleared her throat and continued. “It just goes to show how quickly life can change. A person can be in your life one moment and gone the next. It’s a terrifying notion. I wish I had been more forthcoming with my forgiveness.

“We were on good terms when he passed, and I’m happy with that knowledge, but I wish that it had happened sooner. When the time comes, it never seems like you’ve had enough.

“Thomas Novacek was many things: a talented musician, a good friend, a man firm in his beliefs, but I think the greatest thing he was, at least to me and my family, was a loving grandfather.

“I am so grateful that he was able to see my family as it is now. He was so interested and involved in my children’s lives. With my eldest son, August, he found someone with as profound an interest in music as himself and someone he could talk to for hours about different symphonies and instruments.” Lyla avoided looking towards her son, knowing that he was feeling the loss a great deal and knowing that it was plainly written on his tearful face. “My youngest son, Benjamin, loved his grandpa and was drawn to him whenever he visited or whenever we visited him. My father was always happy to be shown a new toy or listen to his stories or kick the soccer ball back and forth as much as a toddler was capable. Unfortunately, our youngest, Molly Elzbieta, didn’t have as much time to bond with her grandfather and this hurts my heart. But he got to meet her and see his wife’s namesake, which I am so, so thankful for.

“I hope that my father is remembered as a source of light in the lives of many people. Seeing the number of people who have come to celebrate his life tells me that he will be. I would love for anyone who has stories about my father that they’d like to share to do so after this little gift from a daughter to her father.” Lyla was handed a cello, which she took and sat with on a chair left to the podium. She felt more comfortable there.

She began playing the first piece that she had ever performed solo at a recital where she could still remember feeling her father’s pride, even if he didn’t voice it.

When she was finished, she opened the floor to anyone who wished to share their stories of her father, and she was relieved to see so many people willing to do so. Lyla had always rejected his world and the people who it consisted of because she thought that they were always wearing masks or simply trying to impress one another. However, the stories they told were far more genuine than she would’ve thought. While her father sometimes struggled to share his true emotions, especially the positive ones, he had a profound impact on the lives of so many.

Near the end of the service, August took to his guitar to perform a piece that he and his grandfather had shared a love for. Finally, the pastor read out a prayer and the service came to a peaceful end. The congregation would meet at Thomas’ home where refreshments would be given and stories could continue being shared.

 


	41. 2012

_September 2012_

Marshall snored obnoxiously and congestedly, starfished out on his double bed. Maya returned from vomiting in the toilet and checking on Mateo who was playing quietly in his room. With both of his parents more or less MIA, Mateo had taken it upon himself to keep himself entertained, much to the relief of both Maya and Marshall.

Maya was recently spending more time over the toilet than not while Marshall had contracted some bug from his part-time stints at the warehouse covering missed shifts. Neither of them were particularly in the mood for dealing with anything and had been spending the past week in bed and sleeping as much as possible.

She moved his left arm to rest on his stomach and rolled onto the bed. Marshall grunted, which turned into a hacking cough, forcing him to sit up to catch his breath. “Sorry,” Maya said, resting her hand on his back as he heaved.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, waving her off before lying back down, facing Maya with eyes closed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He replied with a laboured grunt.

Maya cupped his stubbled cheek, “poor old man.”

Marshall snorted, “fuck off.”

She laughed and traced her fingers over the faint wrinkles on his forehead before kissing the space between his eyebrows. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you in a couple of years when you can’t remember your name.”

He smirked, “you’re not that much younger than me.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Maya patted his leg and sat up, “can I keep Mateo here when I go to my appointment?”

“You could, but I don’t think he can fend for himself yet.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“With you, you idiot.”

She shook her head, “no, you’re not. A bunch of pregnant ladies don’t need you hacking and dripping all over them.”

“But it’s okay for you?”

“I’m immune to your disgustingness,” she retorted, sticking out her tongue. “Please, just stay here with Mateo and I’ll bring Chinese food home. Get you some hot soup.”

Marshall started to argue but was interrupted by another coughing fit. “Fine,” he croaked. “But make sure you get those dumplin’ things.”

“Of course.” She kissed his cheek and urged him to lie back in bed. “I’m going to have a shower and get ready, then I’ll be off.”

Maya ate a few plain crackers before getting ready and would continue munching on them throughout her travels. It was always a gamble going out in the past couple of weeks and she had vomited in and destroyed more than one purse on the subway, but a constant stream of crackers seemed to help. Even so, she had started carrying around large freezer bags that she could vomit in if there were no garbage cans readily available nearby.

After her shower, she stood in front of her full-length mirror in her bedroom, examining her body and the bump that was already visible. She hoped this pregnancy would be better than last time. Even though she knew it might be awful and even though she felt nauseous all the time, she was ecstatic at the prospect of Mateo having a little brother or sister to play with and grow up with. They wouldn’t find out the sex until her next appointment, but she was secretly hoping for a girl that she could dress up in pretty little dresses. However, a part of her also wanted a boy so that Mateo would have someone more likely to be like him and be his best friend. Just like Marshall and his brother.

When she finished dressing and said goodbye to her boys, she was off to her appointment. There were several pregnant women ahead of her, some bursting and some not showing at all. It was still warm enough that autumn layers were not yet needed, so Maya wore a flowy maxi dress that hid her bump. Soon, she was called in for her ultrasound to confirm the estimated conception date matched the growth of the fetus.

Maya’s doctor, a very friendly and knowledgeable sliver of a woman, came in to discuss the results of the scan, discussing first Maya’s nausea and overall well-being. “If you find that you can’t keep meals down over the next couple of weeks, I’ll get you on some meds. Just make sure that you’re sipping on water or clear juice throughout the day. Avoid drinking too much liquid in one sitting as that can trigger vomiting. I’ll get you a diet plan that helps as well.”

“Okay,” Maya nodded, “thank you. So, how’s the baby doing?”

The doctor smiled, “everything looks good.” She confirmed the number of weeks since conception. “Your due date would be for the end of February under normal circumstances. However, Maya, it looks like you’re going to be having twins!” She clearly had more to say but paused to gauge Maya’s reaction, which was good since Maya could no longer hear anything.

“What?” Maya stammered. “Twins? What?”

“It’s okay,” the doctor assured her, taking her hand. Maya wished she hadn’t forced Marshall to stay home. “Take a deep breath,” the doctor instructed, breathing in and out with her patient until Maya was calmed.

“How can I be pregnant with twins? I don’t even know if twins exist in my family. Or the father’s.”

“Twins can sneak up on you sometimes,” the doctor agreed. “Now, twins are considered full term at thirty-seven weeks instead of forty weeks, so we estimate your due date is at the beginning of February on the 7th. That being said, most twins come at about the 36-week mark, and some even earlier. We’ll just have to keep an eye on how they’re growing. This could also be why you’re feeling more nauseated than last time. Twins affect women that way sometimes. I know this is shocking, Maya, but it’ll sink in and become normal fast, I promise. Do you have any questions?”

Maya had a billion questions and fired them off one after the other until the doctor asked her to slow down and give her time to respond.

As she left the OB-GYN, an appointment set soon to find out the sex of her baby – no, babies – Maya felt dazed. She was excited for Mateo to have a sibling. But not two. That was too many. Marshall would be touring from March. How could she look after a toddler and two infants all on her own? What if they cried like Molly had done? What if August didn’t work on them? What if one twin ate the other? She heard of that happening. Or what if they were conjoined? Or were like those creepy Shining twins? Maya suddenly only wanted boys.

She sat herself on a bench outside of the medical centre to calm herself and push worried thoughts out of her mind. Then she remembered the Chinese food, which she was grateful for so that she could think about something else. She called and gave her order, which she would pick up on her way home.

The restaurant order had been a short-lived reprieve to her thoughts and her mind was back on twins and her panic was dialled up to its maximum.

Maya walked into her home where Marshall and his mini-me were sitting watching TV in the exact same position. She had a billion pictures just like it with them sitting the same or making the same face at the camera or sleeping the same. They might have two more mini-Marshalls soon.

“Hey,” Marshall said, getting up to take the food but stopping when he caught sight of Maya’s face, which was a bit on the pale side. “Y’alright?”

“Twins,” she blurted.

“What?”

“Twins.” She seemed unable to form any other words and was frustrated that Marshall wasn’t catching on. “Twins!” she repeated in a tone that was increasingly panicked. “Twins!”

“Right, you need to calm the F down,” he said, a coughing fit imminent. “Give me the food and go sit down.”

Feeling robotic, Maya did just that.

“Mama okay?” Mateo asked, concern clear on his face.

Her son’s voice seemed to snap her back into focus. “Mama’s okay,” she assured him with a smile, pulling him into a hug. “What are you watching mijo?”

Mateo shrugged, “I ‘unno.”

“Matty, you hungry?”

“Yes!” Mateo squealed before running to his seat at the kitchen table. He climbed up into his booster seat and buckled himself in without needing to be asked.

Maya trailed after him and sat at her usual spot while Marshall got plates for all three of them and served Mateo before starting to pile food on his own plate. “You not goin’ to eat?” he asked Maya who was simply staring at the food.

She shook her head as if to clear it and began piling vegetables and noodles onto her plate.

“So,” Marshall began after they had all had a few bites. “We’re havin’ twins?”

“I can’t even believe it,” Maya began rather quickly. “I didn’t even think of that as a possible thing. Like… do you have any twins in your family that you know about? I don’t. It’s such a freak thing and I’m freaking out.”

“I don’t think there’re twins on my side, but I don’t know too much about my family anyway. It’s gonna be fine.”

“What’s twins?” Mateo asked with a mouth full of spring roll.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full mijo. Twins means two. Instead of one baby, mama’s going to have two.”

Mateo’s face brightened with excitement. “I get two brothers and sisters?”

“Well, we don’t know if they’ll be boys or girls… or both, but yeah, man, you’ll get two.”

“Yeah!” Mateo danced in his seat and hummed as he ate.

Maya leaned over and kissed his head, “I’m glad you’re happy, baby.”

“It’ll be good,” Marshall assured her.

“But so expensive. And so much work. I can’t… how am I going to take care of three when you’re off touring?”

“We won’t be that far, and I’ll come back durin’ our stretches of time off. It’s not like it was overseas. And since when are you the one mentionin’ how expensive somethin’ll be? You’re startin’ to sound like me.”

Maya shook her head, “I can’t do it.”

“I will help, mama,” Mateo offered sincerely.

She smiled, “I know you will mijo.”

“You’ll be able to do it,” Marshall said, “because there isn’t another option.”

That was true enough. Maya sighed and ate her food slowly, sipping water intermittently in hopes of keeping her food down.

“Thanks for pickin’ up the food,” Marshall said after a moment.

“Yeah! Thank you, mama,” Mateo added.

“You’re both very welcome. I think I’m going to lie down though for a bit, okay?” She stood and kissed the tops of both their heads before climbing up to her room and her comfy bed.

* * *

_October 2012_

“How do I look?” Maya had created her costume using an old doll and shirt from a thrift store. She had sewn the doll’s arm and legs onto the shirt so that it looked like one of the tenants of her womb was phasing out of her.

Marshall chuckled, “you’re gonna give the kids nightmares. Like mine?” He pulled the mask he had been wearing as a hat over his face, revealing an angry green Hulk.

“Love it. You can tell how much time you spent on it.”

“I try,” he shrugged, his voice muffled behind the plastic.

“That scary, mama,” Mateo said, tapping one of the doll legs hanging from his mother and grinning.

She laughed and picked him up, “well it’s a good thing we’ve got you to protect everyone. Ready to go to Uncle Lou’s?”

They made their way on the subway to Louis and Lyla’s house where they’d be taking Ben and Mateo trick-or-treating for the first time. Mateo chattered endlessly, wondering what Ben was being for Halloween and how much candy he would get and how scary it would be and a number of other ponderings. When they arrived, they were greeted by Lyla dressed as a witch who feigned surprised at the sudden appearance of Iron Man and wondered where Mateo was, much to the delight of her nephew.

Ben appeared moments later with his father. He was dressed as Batman and the two cousins revelled in each other’s choices. Louis had put about as much effort into his costume as Marshall had, wearing a pirate’s hat, while August remained uncostumed with his girlfriend, the two of them staying behind to give out candy.

Molly slept soundlessly in her stroller, wrapped in white fabric to resemble a mummy, and they were off to seek out candy. For the first couple of houses, Ben and Matty were shyly led to the door and forced to shout “trick-or-treat!” But by the third house, they were high on excitement and were running from door to door, shouting with their fathers following closely behind him.

Lyla and Maya stuck to the sidewalk with Molly, laughing at their sons’ enthusiasm as well as the enthusiasm of the other kids in the area. There were tonnes of kids running from house to house dressed up as all manners of princesses and superheroes.

“How’s the nausea?” Lyla asked as they slowly moseyed down after their family.

Maya shook her head, “awful. The doctor’s given me something for it because I can barely keep anything down otherwise. On the plus side: less weight gain!”

Lyla laughed, “I guess there’s that.”

“Other than that, though, it’s been good. We’ve just been trying to prepare. Marshall’s taken up as many shifts as he can. I’m feeling pretty useless though.”

“You’re not useless. You’ve been taking care of Mateo on top of being sick and you’re growing a baby, so--"

“Babies,” Maya corrected.

“What?”

“You don’t know? I thought for sure Marshall would tell Louis. We’re having twins.”

“What!” Lyla exclaimed loudly, receiving some quick glances from strangers.

“Yeah,” Maya laughed, “boys.”

“Oh, my goodness! That’s a lot! Congratulations though!”

“Thanks,” Maya chuckled. “I’m in way over my head.”

“No, you’ll be okay! I’ll help out as much as possible and you guys can come stay with us if you ever need to while the boys are off.”

“Don’t offer, because I’ll come and never leave.”

“That’s okay! It will be nice to have another adult. And we can divide and conquer! I’m serious.”

“Okay, we’ll see how it goes then. I’ll probably be over the day after Marshall leaves,” she joked.

They managed to get the three-year-olds trick-or-treating for nearly two hours before they were too tired to go on and had to be carried back to the house by their fathers. Once home, they poured the boys’ candy out of their bags into two separate piles. Ben and Mateo’s eyes were wide in awe of their treasure. Lyla and Maya went through the candy to check that everything looked okay, then they allowed the boys to have two pieces of candy each before a movie was put on for them while the adults and Molly congregated around the dining room table.

“I thought you would’ve told Louis.”

“Thought you would’ve told Lyla.”

“Well, we know now,” Louis cut in. “A coupla boys, huh?”

“Yep,” Marshall beamed. “Maya was afraid we’d get stuck with some creepy Stephen King twins.”

“Twins are creepy,” she defended. “They have that weird twin voodoo.”

“Have you thought about names yet?” asked Lyla.

“Well, I have, but I know Marshall won’t like them. But they’re names like Mateo’s.”

“Christ, what names are you thinkin’?” Marshall asked.

“Well, you call Mateo ‘Matty’. So, I figured Spanish names that work the same way since you’re so against my heritage,” Maya said in mock outrage, causing Marshall to roll his eyes. “I was thinking Lucas and Tomas, then you can go off and mess up their names with Luke and Tom. Just don’t call him Tommy because all Tommys are assholes. You can pick the middle names again.”

“Oh, yeah? Thanks. It’s good to feel involved.”

“Don’t complain. God, I’m starving. Let’s order some pizza or something.”

Soon, Matty and Ben were put to bed in Ben’s room, Molly put to bed in her room, and the adults plus August and Anna sat watching a Halloween-themed movie as they ate pizza and drank beer and wine (sans those who were pregnant or underage) and raided Ben and Mateo’s haul for their favourite candies.

Neither Marshall or Maya tried to make it through the whole movie. Maya was always tired, and Marshall was working an early double shift in the morning. They were set up in the spare room in the basement and got settled in quickly.

“How’s the pizza sittin’?” Marshall asked warily. He was starting to sleep through Maya’s vomiting episodes, but it wasn’t always the case. He was tired and wanted sleep.

“Fine, actually. I took my meds. I’ll try to be quiet if I’m sick though.”

“I know you will.” Marshall stripped down to his underwear and climbed under the covers.

Maya stripped down as well, though kept most of her body out from under the covers, her pregnant internal temperature tending to be a lot warmer than normal so that in the morning, neither her nor Marshall were usually covered.

She did well for most of the night but did wake up around two. Whenever she woke in the middle of the night, she always made a point to head straight to the bathroom. She wasn’t always sure why she’d need it – to pee or to vomit – but she knew she would need somewhere with a toilet. Maya wrapped the discarded blanket around her and headed to the bathroom. Sure enough, she both peed and vomited, one after the other, before rinsing her mouth out with wash. She sipped water carefully before heading to the basement sofa. Marshall only had a couple of hours of sleep left, and she usually woke him when she rejoined him in bed, so she opted to curl up with the blanket on the couch until Marshall left for work. The couch was very comfortable, and she fell asleep in an instant.

It didn’t feel like long until she was being prodded awake. She opened her eyes to see Marshall looming over her. “What’re you doin’ sleepin’ out here?” he whispered.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she explained, sitting up and picking up the blanket from the floor.

“You’re gonna give August a show if you stay out here.” He kissed her, “I’m off to work. Go back to bed. I’ll see you at home. Love you.”

“Love you,” she croaked, standing sleepily and shuffling back to the spare room. As soon as she closed the door, she let the blanket fall to the floor and climbed back into bed, falling asleep instantly.

* * *

_December 2012_

Louis and Lyla were back to hosting Christmas and it was the first in their house. The difference that all the space made was incredible, especially now as the band’s families began to grow. Lyla and Louis’ family alone was five people plus August’s girlfiend, Marshall and Maya’s was three with two on the way, Nick and Emily were still Nick and Emily with no plans to ever expand, Brian now had a fiancée who called herself Freddie, and Steve was married to Angela, who was in the early stages of pregnancy, and had his daughter, Sarah, with him again. That totalled sixteen people (plus three still cooking).

The dining room couldn’t fit in everyone to eat, so the living room was their dining room for the day, and everyone fit much more comfortably than they had back in the Manhattan apartment. Plus, there was room to confer elsewhere like in the basement when dinner was through. The table in the dining room and the island in the kitchen were set up with food that Lyla and Louis had made, along with food that everyone had made and brought so that everyone could serve themselves buffet-style. In the living room, there were two rented tables with chairs set up parallel to one another. It was a free-for-all and people sat where they wanted, eight to each table.

Maya had gained a little bit of weight, but not as much as her pregnancy with Mateo. However, her stomach stuck out further than it had with Mateo. She was about twenty-eight weeks along and looked like she would give birth at any moment, though she hoped they’d hang on until they were at a stage where they would be healthy when born. Aside from the sickness, her pregnancy was quite easy (as easy as a pregnancy could be, anyway). She had kept exercising and made a pointed effort to eat as healthily as possible, the number of cravings she had exponentially decreased compared to her first pregnancy. The controlled weight gain made her feel more positive about the whole experience, and she was starting to warm to the idea of caring for the twins and Mateo once Marshall was gone. She tried not to think about the crying and sleepless nights.

After dinner, the party moved into the basement while a few stayed behind to help Lyla and Louis rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher and prepare for dessert.

“Delicious dinner,” Louis whispered in Lyla’s ear while she cut the pie once they were alone.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “It was hard work watching you fix everything I nearly destroyed.”

“You’re really good at makin’ turkey,” he offered, chuckling.

“I am,” she agreed. Lyla might destroy many things, but there were key meals that she excelled at, and turkey was among them. This was mostly due to her careful planning the first year she had made the turkey; she was so focused on getting that one thing right, she managed to do very well. So, she would be in charge of the turkey every year and rely on Louis to help her with everything else. “I’m really good at buying pies too. Can you call everyone up?”

Marshall heard his brother’s voice, muffled as it was, call down from the top of the stairs followed by the quieting voices in the rec area of the basement as its inhabitants rushed upstairs to what Marshall assumed was dessert. “They’re gonna wonder where we are.”

“It’s fine,” Maya responded quick and breathlessly. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

He had both hands on her hips as he thrust into her, “I wasn’t goin’ to stop.” His limit was approaching quickly though, and he’d probably have to use his fingers to help Maya finish. She was never completely satisfied when pregnant, desperate to continue even after she first reached completion. “Are you close?”

She moaned in response, which wasn’t the answer he was looking for – whatever the answer was. Maya had been holding herself up with both hands but knowing that Marshall was almost finished, she leaned forward on one forearm to support her weight and used her other hand to stimulate herself so that she could finish with him.

A moment later, Marshall halted his movements and held her close to him as he came, which was closely followed by Maya’s second orgasm. She knew she could go on for ages, her libido being what it was in the moment, but it wasn’t the place for alone time and she didn’t have her favourite tool with her anyway.

“Fuck,” she said as Marshall pulled out.

“I’m goin’ to go clean up then head upstairs. I’ll say you’re vomitin’ or somethin’.”

She shook her head, “no, don’t bother. They all know why we’re not there. Just tell them I’ll be up in a minute if they ask.”

Marshall nodded before leaving the room.

Maya lay naked on the double bed resisting the urge to continue without him. Whenever the mood arose at this stage in her pregnancy, she felt like she needed to find some release otherwise she would scream. Marshall and a couple of the boys had been jamming and she could feel the vibrations from the amps through the floor. And as she watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he played, she had become hot and needed him right there and then. Maya had waited until he caught her eye and saw the recognition on his face before she disappeared to the spare bedroom and stripped to wait for him. Soon after, she heard the bass drop off, so she knelt on the bed to wait for him, which didn’t take long. Someone else had taken up the bass and was continuing the song, but Marshall opened the door and was on her immediately.

It was so convenient having someone like Marshall at the drop of a hat. She didn’t even want to go out to find other men anymore, not even before she was pregnant. When he was on his tour, sure, but not when she knew he’d be back at the end of the day or late in the night. She thought he might feel the same way because he didn’t talk about other girls as much as he used to. Maybe they were just getting used to routine.

She cleaned herself up after she figured she was in the right state of mind and joined the rest of the party on the main floor, avoiding sitting for a little bit, especially by Marshall, lest it set her off again.

Later, after everyone except family left and after everything was cleaned and put away, Louis and Lyla’s family and Marshall and Maya’s family sat in the intact living room with a Christmas movie playing while they exchanged gifts and let the boys and Molly play.

“Okay, so,” Maya said as she set a large gift bag in front of her, “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands and little will to do anything, so I’ve been really into scrapbooking. I know it’s super cheesy but…” She handed a wrapped package each to August, Louis, and Lyla. “They’re basically just collections of photos, but with glitter and stickers.”

“Thank you, Maya,” Lyla smiled, gently unwrapping her gift as both August and Louis tore through theirs. On the front cover of her gift, there was a copy of the very first photo of Louis and Lyla. “How did you get this?” she asked, feeling immediately nostalgic.

“I have my ways,” Maya replied, leaning forward as much as she could. “See, each of your books have a theme I guess. Yours,” she said to Lyla, “is yours and Louis’ relationship because you’re sappy like that. Lou, yours is your band, and August, yours is Juilliard.”

“This is really wonderful, Maya. Thank you!”

“Yeah, this is great. How’d you find some of these pictures?”

“The internet’s an amazing thing. Also, I may have raided your things.”

“Well, thanks. This is really cool.”

“Yeah, thank you,” August added.

“The house is a sty and the laundry’s never done, but at least she makes nice picture albums,” Marshall joked.

“Screw you,” Maya returned, tossing a ball of wrapping paper at his head.

Soon it was time for Marshall and his family to leave. They said their goodbyes despite Mateo’s protests and began their trek towards the subway, the tantruming child tossed over his father’s one shoulder while Maya hung onto Marshall’s free arm and stepped cautiously on the freshly dusted sidewalks.


	42. January 2013

_January 2013_

Maya woke at some point in the night desperately needing the toilet. She and Marshall were a sweaty mess, simply from both running warm in their sleep, and she had a sheet tangled around her leg. She managed to kick herself free, pull on her robe, and sneak out of her room as quietly as she could.

It wasn’t until she was sitting on the toilet and had fully woken up that she realized the cramping wasn’t alerting her to the need for the bathroom. She laughed to herself before stopping abruptly as a contraction vibrated through her. It took some time but passed so that she was able to stand. She wondered how long they had been happening for as another forced her to pause and breathe. Suddenly, she was gripped by fear, feeling that she was too far along to get to the hospital. The contractions were so close together. How had they not woken her up earlier?

“Marshall!” she called up the step-ladder to her room, but the man slept like the dead. Maya gripped the steps tightly as another contraction coursed through her. Purposefully, she marched towards Mateo’s room and woke him rudely. “Mijo, go get daddy upstairs. Tell him the babies are coming.” Mateo seemed dazed until his mom’s face crunched up in pain and she near-shouted, “quick, Mateo!”

The almost-three-year-old raced to the ladder and climbed it in the painfully slow way a child would. While he went to wake Marshall, Maya hit the light switch in the living room and leaned against the wall, trying to focus her breathing. She felt like she had to push so did.

A moment later, Marshall came down with Mateo in his arms. He set his son down and was at Maya’s side in an instant, “how far apart?” he asked, taking hold of her arm while another contraction plagued her.

She shook her head, “they’re not. They’re coming now.”

“Maya, stop pushin’,” he commanded, taking note of the excess blood. “Matty, go get da’s phone next to my bed. Quick!” Their son followed direction well in a crisis and went to fetch the phone while Marshall guided Maya to the floor, pointing out the blood, which seemed to be flowing out a lot more than it probably was.

Mateo returned with his father’s phone and went to stand next to his mom, trying to comfort her while Marshall dialled 9-1-1.

“9-1-1. What’s you’re emergency?”

“My, uh, partner’s in labour. There’s a lot of blood.”

The operator got his address and the paramedics were dispatched.

“Has she started pushing?” the operator asked.

“She was. I told her to stop.”

“Good. How long has she been in labour for? When did contractions start?”

“My, when’d your contractions start?”

“I don’t know,” she cringed. “I woke up and they were one on top of the other.”

The operator had heard. “Was she bleeding when she woke up or did that start later?”

Marshall repeated the question to Maya who responded, “not until I started pushing. The doctors said I’d probably need a C-section because-“ she was cut off by another contraction.

“They said the babies weren’t the right way,” Marshall finished.

“Is she having twins?”

“Yeah.”

“The paramedics should be pulling up right away,” said the operator. “Check that your door is unlocked.”

Marshall shoved the phone into Maya’s hand and instructed Mateo to take care of his mom before rushing down the stairs to meet the paramedics. He led them around the back to the fire escape so that they could bring the stretcher upstairs. He ran back into the house and met them at the window, which he unlocked so they could climb in.

When he returned to Maya’s side, she wasn’t making as much noise as she had been with her contractions and there was a lot more blood than Marshall remembered. He felt cold as he picked up his scared son and got him dressed for outside. Making sure that he had his keys, phone, and wallet, Marshall waited for the paramedics to take Maya with them so that he could close the window, then he raced down to meet them with Mateo in his arms. As they loaded her into the ambulance, she murmured weakly, “mama loves you, mijo.” Then, “take care of them, Marshall.” He didn’t like the implication.

The ambulance sirens screeched into being and echoed as the truck drove towards the hospital. Marshall and Mateo were left on the dark and quiet street, silently suffocated by their fear for Maya. Marshall rushed to the main street with Mateo still in his arms in hopes of finding a wayward cab. He wasn’t sure what time it was. They were lucky. A yellow cab came towards them as they started towards the subway and Marshall hailed it with all the vigor he could muster. The two clambered in and were on their way to meet Maya at the hospital.

As they rode, Mateo finally spoke, “mama okay?”

“I don’t know, man,” Marshall answered, wondering if he should be so honest. “We’ll ask the doctors at the hospital.”

“Babies okay?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

Mateo was silent for a beat before whispering, “I scared.”

Marshall pulled his son close, “that’s okay, Matty.”

They arrived at the hospital, Marshall overpaid the taxi driver, and with Mateo, he ran to the ER waiting room and was directed to wait in the waiting room in Obstetrics. He texted his brother, explaining the situation in a few words, and then sat anxiously with his son, replaying Maya’s words over and over again, hoping that her implied prediction wouldn’t come true. She had scratched and clawed her way into his life, and she had become a part of him; the prospect of living without her now was too painful to think about. Mateo was strangely stoic, always seeming to have a sensitivity to these kinds of situations. Marshall thought that maybe he was more like Louis in that respect.

Roughly an hour had passed when Marshall was called to meet with a doctor. “Is it Mr. Connelly?” the doctor confirmed to which Marshall nodded. “Ms. Zevallos was taken into surgery for an emergency caesarean and is now in recovery. She lost a lot of blood and is very weak, but she is stable. Two baby boys were delivered and are in the NICU for observation as they have been delivered a couple of weeks earlier than we’d like. I will take you to see them while Ms. Zevallos has some time to recover if you follow me.”

Marshall felt lighter than air and explained to Mateo what all of it meant. His son still wasn’t back to his inquisitive self, but also seemed to ooze relief. They were taken to the NICU where they were able to see the twins in their covered bassinets, hooked up to machines for monitoring. To Marshall, they looked just like Mateo had when he was born – squished and ugly but beautiful because they were his own. They were tinier than Mateo had been, of course, but looked healthy to his untrained eye. He was told as much. Although they were a few weeks earlier than expected, they were still within healthy development and weren’t experiencing any issues; they would be home in a few days by the doctor’s estimate.

The two were then taken to see Maya in recovery. She was in a private room, which Marshall took as a good sign of health, and was sleeping soundly. He thought she looked very pale and unlike herself though, her hair seeming less silky and more straw-like, and her eyes seeming dark and sunken. If he didn’t know that she was alive, he’d think her dead. Carefully, he pushed back stray hairs from her face and kissed her forehead then held up Mateo so that he could do the same.

“Mama okay?” Mateo asked again.

Marshall sat down on the bedside chair with Mateo on his lap, “she’s very weak. That’s why she looks sick. But the doctor said she will be okay.”

“Why she weak?”

Marshall took comfort in the questions spilling out of his son’s mouth again. “She lost a lot of blood and we need blood to keep us strong.”

“Oh. How blood keeps us strong?”

Marshall smirked, “uh, it carries nutrients and vitamins all around our body so all parts of our body… can work properly.” They were starting to get into a territory Marshall knew nothing about.

“What… noot-reents and vi’amins?” the two-year-old asked, stumbling over the complicated words.

“Nutrients and vitamins are healthy things in foods like fruits and veg, and when you eat them, your body is happy. You eat too much food like chocolate and candy, and your body isn’t happy anymore because those things don’t have nutrients and vitamins.” He could go for a nap right about now.

Mateo thought for a moment then asked, “what noot-reents and vi’amins look like?”

“I don’t know, Matty,” Marshall sighed, running his hand over his face.

“How you know chocolate not have noot-reents and vi’amins?”

Marshall chuckled. Of course Mateo would be worried about the stuff his father told him was bad. “I learned it in school. You’ll learn it too when you go in September. You can still have chocolate sometimes, but not too much. And you have to eat the good stuff too.”

“Ben go to school too?”

Marshall sunk into the chair a little more and adjusted Mateo to lean against him comfortably. He closed his eyes and answered, “yeah, but you’ll go to different schools.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t live near the same school as him.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Marshall murmured, “Auntie Lyla and Uncle Lou wanted to live where they live, but me and mama wanted to live where we live.”

“Why?”

“Matty,” Marshall sighed, trying to hide his irritation, “let’s talk about it after I get a little more sleep, yeah? Da’s tired. You watch mama and tell me if she wakes up.”

Mateo nodded purposefully but was out even before Marshall.

Marshall was gently awoken by a smiling nurse. It took a second for him to remember where he was, and his eyes darted immediately to Maya who was watching him through half-closed eyes. He stood quickly, shifting his son as he did so, and was at Maya’s side in an instant. “How’re you feelin’?”

She simply sighed a “hm” in response before reaching out and taking his hand, which he brought to his lips. Maya shifted herself a bit so that he could sit next to her.

“I saw the boys,” he whispered. “Look just like Matty did – ugly little aliens.”

Maya chuckled then winced.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “The doctors say they’re both healthy. They’ll keep ‘em for a few days before they can go home.”

“It’s going to be too expensive,” she whispered. With neither of them having a steady job, they didn’t have insurance through work and the insurance they did have wouldn’t cover everything at the hospital.

“Fuck it, don’t worry about it. I’ll swallow my pride and ask Lou if I have to.” He grinned, “I really rubbed off on you, eh?”

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

He kissed the top of her head, “you scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and her eyes welled with tears. “I was scared too.”

“I wanted to come with you, but they wouldn’t let us in the ambulance. Then we got here, and they made us stay in the waitin’ room. If Matty wasn’t with me, it’d probably’ve been different.”

“Did you call Louis? Mateo shouldn’t be here.”

“Shit, yeah,” Marshall replied, remembering the last text he sent his brother about not being sure Maya would make it. “I sent him a message, but I’ll call him.” He shifted out of bed and set Mateo next to Maya while he went into the hallway to call. It was just after six in the morning and everyone would soon be waking up for their days. Louis, the jobless mongrel, would be going for his jog while Lyla would be getting ready for work.

“Hello?” Louis answered sleepily.

“Hey Lou, it’s Marshall. We’re at the hospital and have been here since fuck o’clock. Could you take Matty for a day or two while we figure shit out?”

“Is everythin’ alright?”

“It is now. A bit of mess earlier though. I’ll talk to Maya and then maybe drop off Matty.”

Louis seemed confused, “did she have the twins? Isn’t it early?”

“Christ, Louie, yeah. Can you take Matty or not?”

“Uh, yeah, man. ‘Course. I can come get him if you want to stay there.”

They decided that Louis coming to get Mateo would be a lot more convenient, at least for Marshall, and ended the call.

* * *

  
A few days later, despite still being very sore, Maya was released from hospital with her and Marshall’s sons, Lucas and Tomas. Marshall had only been home once during Maya’s three-day hospital stay and that was to shower, change, and get some personal items for Maya. It was just as messy as it had been when they left in a rush except for the blood on the floor, which Louis had cleaned up when he went to pick up clothes for Mateo. The twins were sleeping soundly as the parents placed them in their cribs, which were in Marshall’s room for now. Instead of getting a bigger place, they decided that Marshall would move into Maya’s room, the twins would get Marshall’s room, and Mateo would keep his own. So far, they had only set up the cribs.

“I’m going to lie down,” Maya said once the twins were settled. “Let me know if you need anything.” She was still weak and tired all the time, and in immense pain. She cringed as she climbed into the attic to collapse on the bed.

Meanwhile, Marshall called for Mateo to be brought home and the whole clan decided they would make their way over to see the twins. Marshall took the opportunity to tidy up the living area and kitchen.

Louis and Lyla arrived with their brood and Mateo in tow while Maya still slept. As soon as Mateo saw his father, he went running into his arms.

“How’re you Matty?”

“Good!”

He grasped Louis’ shoulder, “thanks, man.”

“Is everything okay?” asked Lyla.

“Yeah,” Marshall replied, motioning for them to sit in the living room. “Maya’s sleeping right now. She’s gonna take some time to recover. The twins are healthy even for bein’ a bit early. They’re sleepin’ too.”

“Lucas and Tomas?” Lyla asked.

Marshall sighed, “yeah. Fully Lucas Eduardo after Maya’s brother and, uh, Tomas Louis.”

Louis seemed genuinely touched, but the moment was uncomfortable until Lyla cut in with, “beautiful names.”

Marshall cleared his throat, “they look just like Matty did. I’m not sure when they’ll be up. Want somethin’ to drink? Eat?”

They all declined the offer and sat talking for a while longer until Maya made a slow appearance. As she started climbing down the steps from her room, Marshall met her and helped her as she winced with almost every movement. Mateo came running towards her and Marshall intercepted, picking him up and holding him next to his mother so they could greet each other.

Lyla exchanged a smiling glance with Louis as Marshall attentively led Maya to the armchair he had been sitting in. They usually hid their affection from anyone beyond themselves, but there weren’t any masks right now, just love.

“How are you feeling, Maya?” Lyla asked as Marshall got Maya water.

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” she answered. “At least when I was at the hospital, I got the good drugs. But I want to breastfeed, so,” she shrugged, smiling at Marshall who handed her a full glass. “Thank you for taking Mateo while I was MIA.”

“Of course. Anything we can do to help, just ask.”

“Thanks. Marshall, can you bring one of the boys? They haven’t eaten in a while and I know you’re all here to see them.”

“We want to see you too,” Lyla assured her.

Maya shrugged, “the babies are cuter.”

Marshall set Mateo down next to Lyla to keep him from accidentally leaning on his mom’s stomach and disappeared for a moment before returning with a sleeping infant.

“Can you tell them apart?” August whispered.

“No,” Marshall answered while Maya said, “yes, that’s Tomas.”

“How can you tell?” Marshall asked.

“Because Tomas was wrapped in the green blanket,” Maya chuckled carefully. “They’re identical,” she explained to their guests, “so we’ll probably mix them up a bunch.”

“Nah, we’ll just permanent marker a T on his forehead.”

“Better than an L, I guess,” Maya smiled. All of her movements seemed to be deliberated upon to minimize the pain she caused herself.

Tomas was passed around and held until he was given to Maya. Marshall placed the infant carefully in her arms with a pillow under her elbows so that she’d avoid resting him on her stitches then draped a receiving blanket over for the guests’ sake, not that none of them had never witnessed a breastfeeding woman. While she got on with Tomas, Marshall brought Lucas out who was a little more animated but otherwise exactly the same as his brother.

It was like a conveyor system. As Tomas fed, Lucas was passed around his family. When Tomas was finished, Marshall took him to burp while Lyla passed Lucas to his mother to also be fed. Compared to Mateo, the infants had a very nice temperament. Marshall swaddled Tomas again and returned him to his crib to continue his nap and then repeated the process with Lucas.

“You guys’ve got the process down already,” Louis commented as Marshall set Lucas back down.

“Yeah, now we do,” Maya agreed. “The real test will be when Marshall’s at work.”

“You’re not leaving her all alone?” Lyla asked, a tad too appalled.

He held up his hands as he returned to his spot on the chair’s arm, “I told her I’d stay, but she wants me out.”

“It’s only going to be a six-hour shift in the morning,” Maya explained. “We’ll be sleeping for the first three hopefully and I’ll just do the best I can for the rest of time.”

“I help, mama,” Mateo added.

“Yes, you will, mijo, thank you. I’ll have to get used to it anyway. Marshall’s not the stay-still type and the boys will be going on tour in a couple months. If I can do this, then that will be cake.”

Marshall rested his hand on her neck, mindlessly moving his thumb in circles.

“Well, as always, if you need help,” Lyla repeated, “please ask. I’ll drop everything I’m doing and come help.”

Louis and his family stayed a little longer before heading back home via cab. “Maya looks so tired,” Lyla said to Louis in the backseat of the taxi, August taking the front on his own. “She shouldn’t be taking care of the babies alone. How is she even going to pick them up when she’s in so much pain?”

“We’ll be by our phones if she needs us, but you know how stubborn those two are. Arguing with Maya’ll get us nowhere.”

Lyla nodded, “I guess you’re right.”

* * *

  
Marshall returned home shortly after noon a week following the twins’ birth. It was a hectic week. Not only were they suddenly, in their comfort, as loud and tearful as Mateo had been when they brought him home, but there was now two of them, and Mateo had made a point of suddenly needing unadulterated attention so that Marshall and Maya were often faced with three crying and screaming children. The two of them were running on minimal sleep and were often at each other’s throats due to the deprivation. To add to his fatigue, Marshall had been taking the earlier shifts so that Maya wouldn’t be trapped alone for too long. He welcomed the break from the crying, but was only trading one stress for another, and felt unexpectedly guilty leaving the exhausted mother of his children home alone with the monsters. Lyla had suggested continuing to use their nanny, but Maya couldn’t bear to leave the house, and Marshall always left too early. It just wasn’t an ideal situation all around.

Marshall walked up the front steps of his home, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Immediately, he could hear the triad of cries from their apartment above. Everything inside him told him to run away, but he fought the urge and trudged up the stairs. Opening the apartment door, he saw Lucas and Tomas writhing red-faced on the floor, a blanket adding some comfort to the hard laminate. Upon seeing his father, Mateo toddled over to Marshall, arms raised and hands grasping.

“Heya Matty, where’s mama?” He picked him up and consoled the almost-three-year-old.

With shaky, but calmer breaths, Mateo said, “mama in potty.”

“Okay,” said Marshall, more than understanding of Maya’s need for a little peace, “you hungry?”

Mateo nodded with the corners of his lips downturned.

“Right, I’ll get us a snack. You keep your brothers company, yeah?” He placed Mateo on the ground and was met with toddler grip on his leg.

“No, daddy, no down!” Mateo screamed.

Marshall rolled his eyes, not in the mood to argue, and picked his son back up. Holding him in one arm, he went to the cupboard for some crackers, which he poured on the table in front of Mateo’s chair. “Alright Matty, I need to see Lucas and Tomas, so you need to sit in your chair and eat your crackers, yeah?”

Matty held on tightly to his father’s arm, seeming to try and figure if he wanted daddy or crackers more. Finally, he nodded, resolved, and sat in the chair where his stomach growled for the crackers.

Marshall returned to the living room to tend to the twins who had barely taken a breath between their scream-cries. He picked up Lucas first whose diaper was wet and full. Marshall cleaned him up and put him in his bassinet then did the same with Tomas. They were both hungry but would have to wait for Maya on that front. They were also both tired and yawning, which helped the crying to cease. Maya would come out and feed them when she was safe from the noise.

Marshall turned on the TV, bringing Mateo to join him once his crackers were finished. The two sat on the couch for a little bit, Marshall’s feet aching from a long morning of work. In a few minutes, he’d start lunch. Even though it was quiet, Maya didn’t come out of the bathroom. “Mama’s takin’ a long time, huh?”

Mateo nodded eagerly, “mama take long time!”

After another few minutes passed, Marshall stood from the couch, “Matty, stay here. I’m goin’ to ask mama what’s takin’ so long.”

Mateo nodded absent-mindedly, eyes wide as some cartoon dogs traipsed across the TV.

“My?” Marshall called as he neared the bathroom. “Y’alright?”

She didn’t answer, so he knocked on the door and repeated himself. Without an answer the second time, he tried the child-proofed door handle, which was unlocked, and opened up slowly, peering in. He couldn’t open the door all the way because Maya was on the floor, passed out, her feet obstructing the door.

“Maya!” Marshall squeezed in through the door and knelt down beside her. “Maya, wake up, it’s Marshall.” But she didn’t respond. He traced his fingers over her neck, not entirely sure where a pulse would be, and felt nothing. He rested his head on her chest, listening for a heartbeat or a breath, but heard nothing. “Maya,” he repeated, his voice cracking. He glanced around the small room for some explanation for her state but wasn’t in a clear enough state of mind. “Maya,” he said again, voice quieter. By her hand, her phone had been dropped. He picked it up and saw his name and number on the screen, ready to be dialled. Shaking his head, he cleared it and dialled 9-1-1.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” an authoritative voice came from the other end.

“I think my… partner… is dead.” He felt cold saying it out loud.

“What is your location?”

He gave the woman his address, “it’s the second-floor apartment. They need to use the fire escape for the stretcher.”

“Help is on the way. We’ll see about the stretcher when we get to that point. What’s your name?”

“Marshall Connelly. Her name is Maya Zevallos. We have kids.”

“You have kids?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to Maya? Can you tell?”

“No, I don’t know.” For the first time, he noticed crimson on white. “There’s blood on the toilet and she’s on the bathroom floor. Her phone showed she was ‘bout to call me at work. I don’t know.”

“Is there any other blood? Has she been sick or injured recently?”

“Uh, she gave birth last week,” he searched her body, looking for more blood beneath her layers of clothes until he found it. Beneath her pelvis, blood was soaked into her clothes. “Yeah, there’s more blood.” He ran his hand over his face, wanting to cry. He felt his voice crack, “I couldn’t find a pulse. She didn’t sound like she was breathin’. I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s okay,” the woman assured him, her strong voice strangely calming. “Is your door unlocked?”

“Uh, no,” Marshall stammered. “I’ll, uh, meet them downstairs.” He made to move, but thought better of it, “I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“You need to open the door so that the paramedics can get to her quickly and help.”

Marshall nodded and leaned over to kiss Maya’s forehead, “I’ll be right back, My. Okay,” he said to the operator, “I’m goin’ to the door.”

“Good,” said the operator. “Stay on the line with me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Marshall said, walking to the apartment door, his legs feeling like jelly.

“Daddy!” Mateo shouted, “where going?”

“It’s okay, Matty,” Marshall replied, trying his best to sound nonchalant. “Keep watchin’ your show. I’m just checkin’ the mail. Be back.”

“Do you know how long Maya had been on the floor before you found her?” the operator asked Marshall.

“No, I got back from work a bit after twelve. The boys were cryin’ so I thought she just needed a break – we have three under three. I changed them and fed Matty—” a thought occurred to him. “Lucas and Tomas are hungry. They’re bein’ breastfed. They’re gonna go hungry—”

“Sir, they will be okay. When Maya is taken to the hospital, you can pick up some formula. Do you have friends or family to help you?”

Marshall nodded, opening the front door of the building, “uh, yeah, my brother’ll help. I’m at the door.”

“Okay, do you hear the sirens?”

Marshall listened, “yeah, I hear them.”

“They should be there in a moment. When did you find Maya?”

“It was a couple minutes before I called you. Me and Matty were watchin’ TV and she hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet, so I went to check on her and she was on the floor. D’you think she bled out? How long were the boys alone?”

“I can’t answer that, sir. The paramedics will help.”

“They pulled up.”

“Alright, sir, speak to them now, okay?”

“Okay, thanks,” he hung up the phone and was greeted by the paramedics. “The stretcher won’t fit up the stairs; you’ll need to use the back,” Marshall explained as he led them up the wonky staircase. They abandoned the stretcher and only brought medical bags with them. Marshall led them into the apartment, ignoring Mateo’s exclamations of interest, and led them to the bathroom where they adjusted Maya so that the door could open fully before getting to work.

“Daddy!” Mateo shouted, sliding off the couch and running towards his father.

Marshall turned away from the scene and scooped his son in his arms, “do you want to go into mama’s room?”

Never allowed to go into his mother’s room on his own, Mateo jumped at the opportunity, “yeah, yeah, yeah!”

He placed Mateo on her bed and moved anything even remotely dangerous out of sight before putting the TV on so that Mateo could watch in there. “You watch TV in here for a little while, Mateo. Don’t touch what you’re not supposed to, yeah?” Before he left, he locked the door so that Mateo couldn’t leave the room to see his dead mother.

Marshall returned to the scene where the paramedics were examining Maya. It didn’t take them long. One of the paramedics stood to face Marshall.

“She’s dead,” Marshall said, already knowing the answer.

The paramedic nodded, “it looks like she bled out. This is a complication that sometimes arises from birth, particularly from C-sections, which it looks like she had. Is that right?”

Marshall nodded solemnly, “she had twins,” he motioned to the bassinets in the living room.

“We’re going to take her to the hospital where doctors can confirm that’s what happened. You said there’s another way out?”

“The fire escape.”

The paramedic nodded and left the apartment to get what they would need while the other medic prepared Maya for transport. Marshall watched her still, pale face lay motionless and lifeless. He kept expecting her to wake up and yell at him for letting people see her in such a state, or to get up and tend to Lucas and Tomas who were beginning to fuss. He set Maya’s phone on the side table in the living room and got his own from his pocket, dialling his brother’s number.

“Hey Marshall,” Louis’ voice came from the other end, “I’m just headin’ into a meeting. Can I call you back in about an hour?”

“Maya’s dead,” Marshall said. His voice didn’t sound anything like his own.

There was silence on the other end for a moment, “what?”

“Maya died. The paramedics are takin’ her to the hospital. I need formula for Lucas and Tomas. Can you bring me somethin’?”

“Yeah,” his brother said in a quiet voice. “I’ll be right there.”

Marshall made sure his bedroom window was unlocked so that the paramedics could have easy access.

He didn’t know how he would tell Mateo. He’d be three in a couple of months. How could a three-year-old understand? And the twins wouldn’t even remember her. He silently watched the paramedics work, fighting to keep himself from falling apart. When they were gone, the puddle of congealed blood remained. He stared at it, mesmerized by the last hour, questions of what-ifs running through his mind. Mateo was shouting to come downstairs and the twins were screaming for food. Marshall heard none of it; his thoughts were loudest, only interrupted by Louis entering from the fire escape, grocery bags in hand.

“Marshall,” whispered Louis urgently, kneeling next to his entranced brother. He put his hand on Marshall’s shoulder, which seemed to bring him out of his reverie.

“Thanks, Lou,” he said, getting up to make the babies some bottles.

Louis glanced at the bathroom where blood was staining the floor. “Marshall, I can do that.”

Marshall nodded, “yeah. I need to call Maya’s family.” He went into his bedroom and sat on the side of his bed, taking a few deep breaths. He knew it was only a matter of time before tears started falling, no matter how much he tried to avoid it, but he would have to hold his voice steady if dealing with Maya’s family. From Maya’s phone, he’d call Ed, probably the only family member who wouldn’t ignore his call.

After a couple of rings, Ed answered in Spanish.

“Uh, Ed, it’s Marshall.”

“Marshall?”

“Yeah, uh—” he took a deep breath. “Somethin’ happened to Maya—”

“Is she alright?”

Marshall shook his head, knowing full well Ed couldn’t see him, “no. No, she’s not. She’s gone. She… died.” It was foreign, feeling ‘died’ leave his lips.

“What?” Ed sounded baffled, “what? How?”

“The paramedics took her away to get a doctor to look her over, but they think it was a complication from birth—oh, she had twins.” Maya hadn’t spoken to anyone in her family since her abuela’s funeral. Anything they knew about her was through social media, and she didn’t post updates very often. She’d never post anything anywhere again.

“I didn’t know she was pregnant again,” his voice was quieter.

“Ed, I’m sorry. I was at work. I didn’t know. Listen, I’ve gotta go take care of things. I’ll let you know about… funeral stuff.” He didn’t wait to hear anything Ed wanted to say and hung up quickly. He felt on the edge. Once false movement and he’d become a mess. Marshall took a deep breath and headed back into the living room where Louis was feeding both twins at once. Marshall silently stepped in and took over Tomas. He could tell that Louis was uncomfortable and wanted to discuss what happened, so Marshall said, “say what you’re thinkin’, Lou.”

Louis cleared his throat, “just want to know what happened.”

The twins finished their bottles at roughly the same time, so each brother took a baby to burp and sat on the sofa.

“I don’t know what happened,” Marshall said, the helplessness he had been feeling coming back full force. “That’s not true. They – the paramedics – said it was probably a complication from birth. I don’t know what that means. She bled out.” Tomas belched and spit up on the blanket, and Lucas followed suit almost immediately. The brothers placed the twins back in their bassinets before sitting on the couch once more. Marshall leaned his head in his hands, “I used her phone to call 9-1-1, and my name was there. She was goin’ to call me. But I guess it happened too quickly. I don’t know how long she was there for. Got home and boys were all wailin’.” Now that he started talking, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. “How can she be dead just like that? I’m tryin’ to think of the last thing I said to her. Probably some dick comment last night when the boys weren’t goin’ down. Lucas and Tomas won’t even notice. I still have to tell Mateo. How do I tell a kid his mother’s dead?”

Louis didn’t miss the use of Mateo’s given name instead of Marshall’s usual ‘Matty’. “Tell me what you want me to do, Marshall, and I’ll do it. Anything.”

Marshall just shook his head in the palms of his hands, “Mateo is barely goin’ to remember her as he gets older. Lucas and Tomas won’t know her at all.”

“’Course they will,” Louis tried to assure his brother. “You’ll tell them about her. Show them pictures and tell them stories about her.”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it,” Marshall snapped. “Y’know,” he grinned, leaning back against the sofa, “one day, the three of them’ll be lookin’ for porn and’ll come across their mam on some site. That’ll be an interestin’ day.” He chuckled almost to himself much to Louis’ bemusement until the chuckle devolved into silent, shaking sobs. Marshall buried his face in his hand again. Louis rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder, not sure what else he should do; he had never seen his brother cry, even as kids. When he was upset, he became distant and quiet, but never shed tears – at least, not in front of anyone. He briefly wondered if Maya had ever seen him cry.

Louis’ phone began to ring – a recorded cello melody. “It’s Lyla,” Louis said, taking the phone from his jacket pocket.

“Good,” Marshall grunted. “Ask her what I’m supposed to do next.” He listened as Louis answered his phone in the kitchen, heard as his brother told Lyla about what had happened.

“She’s gonna come over to help,” Louis said after he hung up. “She’ll bring some things with her – food and some stuff for the boys.”

Marshall sniffed and nodded, “I’m goin’ to clean the bathroom,” and stood abruptly.

Louis thought of the image of the bloody floor, “I can do that, Marshall.”

Marshall waved him off, “no. I have to do it. Can you hang with Mateo though?”

“Of course,” Louis replied, relieved to do something relatively helpful. “Sure.”

As Louis disappeared, Marshall got to work cleaning up as much liquid as he could with paper towels and then completing the rest with bleach and rags. He thought Maya must have been on the floor for some time because some of the blood on the edges of the congealed mess was beginning to crust. Tears again fought to break free from behind his eyelids. He worked through it and scrubbed more than he had to, cleaning the parts of the bathroom that were unaffected just so that he had something to do. When he was finished, bleach was stinging his nose and making him drowsy. He cleaned up the rags and tossed them, along with the paper towels, in the garbage can before putting the bleach away, turning on the bathroom fan, and disappearing into his bedroom to be alone.

He dozed off and was being gently prodded awake a short time later. Marshall opened his eyes to see his concerned sister-in-law still in her winter coat. It took him a moment to realize that his window was still open. “I put the twins in Mateo’s room,” she explained. “I had to air the place out.” He simply nodded his understanding as he sat up, his blanket draped over his shoulders to protect from the cold.

Lyla abruptly took his hand. “I’m sorry, Marshall.” Her voice cracked, “I’m so sorry.”

Marshall took his hand away and cleared his throat. The last thing he needed was to see someone else cry because he knew it would set him off again. “I need you to tell me what to do,” he said. “The funeral. How do I--? What do I do?”

Lyla steadied herself and took a breath, “I’ll do what I can to help. I’ll see if the funeral director I used for my dad knows someone local. What kind of funeral do you think she’d want?”

He shrugged, “somethin’ sparkly.”

Lyla chuckled, “you’re probably right. Have you… have you called her parents?”

“I called her brother. He’ll tell them. Her parents have ignored her calls since she left home. There’s no point tryin’.”

“Good.” She thought for a moment, “Marshall, I know you two lived together and have children together, but her parents might try to make a case for custody of Maya’s children or rights to her belongings since you weren’t married.”

Marshall shook his head, “we went down to City Hall after my cancer. She was upset that she couldn’t legally get any information on me. We’re common law partners… or were, so it’s fine. And I’m on the boys’ birth certificates and medical documents. We’ll be fine.”

“Oh. Good,” Lyla replied, surprised and relieved that they had done something so level-headed.

There was a long pause as Lyla looked through her phone for the funeral director’s number before Marshall blurted, “how do I tell Mateo?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “There’s no good way. I think… you just have to be honest and be clear. Explain what it means and answer any questions he has and then… just be with him and comfort him and make him feel safe and loved.” Lyla felt like she would start crying right away and could tell Marshall would rather she not, so she excused herself to “call the funeral home” and disappeared into the kitchen.

Marshall made his way up to what was still Maya’s room. He thought it would still be Maya’s room for a long time. Louis was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed with Mateo in his lap, the two of them watching some cartoon on TV. “Hey Matty,” Marshall said, nodding to Louis who understood and left the two alone, “what’re you watchin’?”

Mateo was completely entranced by the cartoon and barely responded.

“Matty, I need to turn the TV off and talk to you.”

“No! TV on!” Mateo demanded.

“I can turn it back on after. Promise. It’s very important.”

For once, logic won out with Mateo and he nodded. Maybe he sensed something off in his dad.

Marshall turned the TV off and placed Mateo on the edge of Maya’s bed where Marshall sat next to him. He tried to think of the best way to ease into the subject, resting very temporarily on a comparison to Bambi, annoyed with his mind for where it would go in a time like this, but not wanting to traumatize Mateo more than he already would be. “Matty,” he began, thinking of how he would liked to have been informed about his mother’s passing beyond the blunt ‘your mam’s dead’ that he had received. “Matty,” he repeated, thinking of what Matty would best respond to, “do you remember the paramedics that came over a little while ago?”

“What’s para…medic?”

“Paramedics are those people who were in the house earlier. The ones who took mama to the hospital when the twins were born. They go to where people are hurt and try to help them. They drive the ambulances you see with the sirens and bring people to hospitals to try and help them.”

“Oh. Who hurt?”

Marshall took a deep breath, “mama got hurt. Da called the paramedics to try and help, but they couldn’t help her because… she died.” He breathed for a moment to let the words sink in. Mateo seemed to be mulling the words over. “Mama wasn’t feelin’ good and fell onto the floor. The paramedics couldn’t help her. Do you understand?”

Mateo seemed solemn. “Mama died,” he repeated. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Marshall replied. “The paramedics took her to the hospital to find out why.”

“Oh,” Mateo said. “The doctors help mama?”

Marshall felt his heart breaking for his son, “no, man. Mama died. We have to have a funeral for her. The doctors can’t help her.”

“Why not?” Mateo demanded, his voice showing that he was on the verge of tears.

“I don’t know, Matty. It’s just how it is.”

Mateo began to sob. “I want mama!” he wailed.

Marshall scooped Mateo into his arms and laid down on Maya’s bed, “I know, Matty.” He could feel the warm tears falling over his own cheeks now. “I want her too,” he murmured. Then he held on tightly to his son and hummed tunelessly until he calmed down. “I need to go downstairs to talk with Auntie Lyla. Do you want to stay here and watch TV or go downstairs with me and Uncle Lou?”

“Ben here?” he seemed to perk up at the thought of a friend.

“No, man, sorry. He’s at home with August and Mol.”

The corners of Mateo’s mouth turned down, but he didn’t start crying again, “I come downstairs.”

Marshall nodded, picked him up, and then the two of them descended the ladder. Lyla was pacing around the living room and kitchen, talking on the phone and pausing at the kitchen table to write down some details she was given while Louis was unpacking items that Lyla had brought over, including more diapers and more formula.

When Lyla saw Mateo, she put the person she was talking to on hold. “Hi Mateo,” she said, stroking his hair sympathetically.

“Mama died,” he said, his bottom lip quivering and his voice straining.

She took him from Marshall and held him close to her, “I know, sweetheart.” Lyla sat on the sofa with Mateo, allowing him to rest on her lap while she finished her various phone calls.

It was dark by the time Louis and Lyla set off for home. They had helped Marshall with the twins when they started crying and Lyla had secured a funeral for Maya at the church where her abuela’s funeral had been. With the twins asleep, Lyla and Louis left Marshall and his boys to themselves, the former promising to be back tomorrow to help as Louis would be working.

Marshall gave Mateo a bath, despite his reservations about kneeling on the spot he had found Maya’s body, and read him two stories as usual, trying to keep as close to routine as possible. He already knew his mother was dead, but Marshall didn’t want him to think that meant everything would be different even if it would be. Things got difficult when Marshall left Mateo to sleep in his own bed. He put up a fuss and Marshall let him; he had a tough enough day without an argument over bed time too.

“Do you want to sleep with me in my bed tonight?” he asked his crying son who immediately stopped sobbing, despite his large frown, and nodded.

On the first night without Maya, the two of them lay side-by-side. Mateo was exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately, but Marshall was plagued by his thoughts and would be for the foreseeable future. He got out of bed and began working on Maya’s obituary followed by the eulogy he would read out for her funeral.

 

* * *

 

**Maya Valencia Zevallos**   
_February 17, 1981 – January 24, 2013_

Maya Valencia Zevallos, 31, passed away suddenly in her home on the afternoon of Thursday, January 24, 2013. She was born February 17, 1981 to parents Mateo and Florencia (nee Almansa) Zevallos. Maya recently gave birth to twins, Lucas Eduardo and Tomas Louis Zevallos-Connelly, and also leaves behind son Mateo Patrick Zevallos-Connelly, partner, Marshall Connelly, and brother Eduardo Zevallos as well as extended family who she loved dearly. Maya was a passionate woman filled with love and determination. Recently, she went back to school and completed her GED before attending college for a degree in business. She had hoped to open an event planning firm. A funeral will be held on Sunday, January 27th at Saint Ignatius Catholic Church to celebrate Maya’s life. She will be missed.

 


	43. February 2013

_February 2013_

It had been twenty-five days since Maya had died, and Marshall was on complete radio silence. After the funeral, he had made no effort to contact Louis or anyone else in the band, and they were worried. He had ignored every text, phone call, and email thrown his way. Louis figured he’d need time but was worried by the complete lack of anything at all. And he worried about his nephews too. Mateo especially who had lost the first person who had ever loved him and the first person he had ever loved. He had been very close to his mother.

So, when Maya’s would-be birthday rolled around, Louis and Lyla decided they’d be proactive and go over to Marshall’s home, leaving Molly and Ben in the capable hands of August and Anna.

The cab dropped them off in front of Marshall’s house and they let themselves in the front door with the key Marshall had given them. At the top of the stairs, though, they knocked and waited. Marshall answered after the third knock. Realizing who it was, he let the door swing open and left them behind to join Mateo on the couch. Matty’s eyes shot open when he saw his aunt and uncle, and went running to greet them, happier to see them than he had ever been before.

The living room lights were off, the only glow coming from the television, and clothes and dishes were strewn throughout the living room and kitchen. It was stuffy and smelled faintly of dirty diapers and something distinctly male. Marshall had certainly seen better days himself, a scraggily beard growing strong and the bags under his eyes dark and defined.

“Turnin’ on the light,” Louis warned as Lyla closed the door behind her with one hand, hugging Mateo with the other.

Marshall didn’t seem bothered.

“Where’re the boys?” Louis asked and Marshall waved in the general direction of his bedroom.

“I show you,” Mateo offered, leading his aunt towards the room while Louis took the armchair across from Marshall.

“I’m takin’ you outta here for a couple hours,” Louis stated.

Marshall groaned, “I’m not goin’ out, Louie.” His voice was grizzled and tired.

“Just a coupla drinks. You need to get out. Lyla’ll watch the boys.”

“I don’t want any drinks.”

“Then food. Coffee. Fresh air. I don’t care. You don’t have a choice, Marshall. We’re all worried about you.”

“You can all fuck off,” Marshall bit back, shutting off the TV and sitting up.

“Marshall,” Louis repeated, standing up. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

His brother stood to argue but didn’t seem to have the energy and stormed off to get dressed as Lyla and Mateo returned to the living room.

“They okay?” Louis asked.

Lyla nodded, “they look fine. I’ll clean up a bit and spend some time with Mateo. How does that sound?” she asked her nephew.

“Yeah!” he replied excitedly.

A moment later, Marshall returned, messed up Mateo’s hair, saying, “later, Matty,” and led the way out. Louis kissed Lyla quickly and followed after his brother.

Lyla sat down with Mateo, “how are you feeling, Mateo?”

“I’m hungry,” he replied cheerfully.

“What would you like to eat?”

“Pizza!”

Lyla took note of the numerous pizza boxes around the apartment. “Well, let’s see what we have in the fridge first. I think you and daddy have been having a lot of pizza lately, right?”

“We love pizza!”

“I’m sure you do,” she chuckled. “But let’s see if we can get something different.”

With Mateo following closely behind her, she scoured the fridge and cupboards but only managed to find cereal, milk, and baby formula.

“We need to get some groceries, I think.”

“Da says we get gosrees tomorrow.”

“Let’s see if we can get something today.”

“But Luke and Tom are too little,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Well, I remember buying the twins a nice stroller, so they could go out even though they are little.” She went to the storage closet to search through the boxes with Mateo following close behind, one little hand on her leg. The stroller was folded up in the corner of the closet. She pulled it out carefully and unfolded it to check that it was the one she wanted then searched a little longer for the baby carrier, thinking about how she was going to get all three children out at the same time in a place made of stairs. “Mateo,” she said, folding the stroller back up, “I’m going to put this stroller downstairs, but I’ll be right back.”

“No!” Mateo screamed, beginning to cry in an instant. “Don’t go, auntie!”

Lyla was startled by his abruptness. “Sweetheart, I can’t take Lucas and Tomas downstairs at the same time I take the stroller.”

Mateo simply cried in response, shaking his head and sitting on the floor, “no, auntie.”

She sighed and put the stroller back in the closet, “okay, love. We won’t go. Come here.” Mateo stood with his face red and full of tears. “What’s wrong, Mateo? Auntie isn’t going to leave you.” She got some toilet paper out of the bathroom to wipe his face and blow his nose as he hiccupped.

“I-“ he sniffled, “I want you to stay with me.”

“I will, don’t worry.” She took a deep breath, “alright, let’s have pizza one last time. While we wait, can you help me clean up?”

With downturned lips, he nodded.

By the time the pizza arrived, they were finished tidying (except for taking the garbage out, Mateo having another near-meltdown at the thought) and sitting on the sofa, watching a movie. Mateo followed close behind, hardly letting his hand leave her, before sitting at the kitchen table as instructed for a slice of pizza off of a plate rather than straight from the box like he informed Lyla he and his dad usually did. But as Lyla sat down, one of the twins began to cry, slowly followed by the other. Mateo abandoned his pizza and followed his aunt into the room while offering his help.

* * *

  
Louis took Marshall into a bar and grill in Manhattan – somewhere far away from home. His brother wasn’t in a talking mood and only communicated through grunts if he really had to. They sat at a bar table in the middle of the loud restaurant and waited to be served. “Couple of Guinnesses,” Louis told the waitress.

“No,” Marshall said, “I don’t want to drink. Just get me a coke.”

“A Guinness and a coke then,” Louis amended. “You sure you don’t want anythin’ harder?”

“I’m fine.”

Louis had half-expected Marshall to be bottle-feeding himself an endless supply of beer while bottle-feeding his sons formula, but he wasn’t. “How are things?”

Marshall was irritated, “things are shit, aren’t they? Are you buyin’?”

“Yeah, I’m buyin’.”

When the waitress returned, Marshall ordered a surplus of hot wings and a double bacon cheeseburger complete with every topping under the sun and a side of curly fries. Louis ordered a burger for himself as well.

“I know why you and Lyla came today,” Marshall said once the waitress had set down their drinks and taken their orders. “I wish you’d just let it alone.”

“We tried it your way,” Louis said, “but you didn’t bother to get back to anyone. If you’d’ve answered a call or text, maybe I would’ve let it be. But we were worried about you. And worried about the boys.”

“We’re fine. The boys are fine.”

“Your house is a mess and—”

“I know your wife is up there cleanin’ it up. It’s not a mess no more.”

“That’s beside the point—”

“Louie, I just wanted to be alone tonight--” He put his hand to his face and breathed deeply. “I would’ve taken her out tonight. For a break. But they haven’t even been bad. It’s like they know.”

“Probably do.”

“Matty’s been a mess. Won’t leave my side. He’s probably drivin’ Lyla crazy right now. Good luck to her if she tries to use the toilet. The twins don’t do nothin’. They’re so easy to take care of and that’s more frustratin’ for some reason.”

“If they were difficult, you’d have somethin’ to focus on.”

“Yeah,” Marshall nodded, considering, “yeah, you’re probably right. Now, I just sit watchin’ TV with Matty all day, stoppin’ occasionally to change or feed the twins or bring ‘em into the livin’ room, Mateo followin’ me all the while. And most of the time I’m thinkin’ about her and how easy it’d be for her and how she would’ve hated how easy I have it.”

“You need to get back into some sort of routine. If not for yourself, then for the boys. Get back to work; I could take the boys durin’ the day. When we go on tour—”

Marshall scoffed, “I’m not goin’ on tour, Lou. My kids just lost their mother. What’re you thinkin’?”

Louis figured his brother might say something to that effect, “fine, Marshall, but the fact still stands: you need to take the boys out. Turn some lights on. And take the time now to unwind. You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“Christ, Lou, no. Think about it: I’m a heavy drinker, had prostate cancer, and lost the mother of my children. Sound like anyone else you know?”

“Da? That’s not—That’s different.”

“How different Lou? When mam died, da drank even more and then he abandoned his family, and eventually died from liver cancer. Don’t think the drinkin’ helped. I’ve been followin’ his footsteps too long and I’m not goin’ to abandon my family ‘cause I drank myself into a stupor to forget her. Fuck, I might be a depressed loser right now, but I’m not doin’ that.”

The waitress set down the food quietly, clearly uncomfortable with the tone of her customers’ conversation, and disappeared promptly.

“You know she thought she was gonna die? Yeah, the night she went into labour as they were loadin’ her into the ambulance, she told Matty she loved him and told me to take care of them – the boys. In that moment, she was convinced she was gonna die but didn’t. And I keep playin’ that moment over in my head as if those were the last words she ever said. Just over and over. I’m goin’ to take care of them, ‘course. But what if she had that feelin’ before she actually died? She was tryin’ to dial me but died before she could. Was she goin’ to tell me the same thing? Or was she completely clueless, ignorin’ the feelin’ ‘cause she was wrong the time before? Maybe she was callin’ to tell me to pick up fuckin’ milk.” He worked angrily at a hot wing as he continued. “I’m so fuckin’ mad at myself. If I didn’t go to work – if I ignored her and demanded that I stay at home, at least for a couple of weeks, maybe she’d still be here.”

Louis kept silent, eating his burger and drinking his beer. Marshall had a lot that he needed to get off his chest and it was best to let him say what he needed to say. Maybe it would make him feel better.

Marshall was quiet for a little while, taking time to eat. “Thanks for this,” he said quietly. “Ran out of groceries last week and have been eatin’ pizza ever since. Preparin’ for your wife to chew me out.” He finished off his basket of chicken wings and gulped down some of his drink before moving onto the fries. “Maya’d’ve been thirty-two today. She was too young. Do you think I robbed her of anythin’?” It was painful to say her name.

“No,” Louis said automatically. “What do you mean?”

“The girl was gorgeous. Could’ve been a supermodel. And she was one of the more confident people I’d ever met. But then I got her pregnant and she was stuck with me. When we were more casual, she was goin’ to parties with bigshots every chance she got. With me, she changed and stayed in more, and had a short stint as a fuckin’ porn star. I just think if it weren’t for me, she’d’ve done somethin’ bigger.”

“No,” Louis said. “She wanted to be a mother and loved you. She was in her late twenties when she got with you, yeah? If she was tryin’ for somethin’ bigger, it would’ve happened before she got with you.”

“She never wanted to be a mother until she was one,” Marshall amended. “She hated the idea of kids at first. I think she only ended up likin’ it because I liked the idea of havin’ kids.” He shook his head, “never mind. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’ve been thinkin’ about it non-stop since she died. Let’s just… what’s up with you and Lyla?”

Louis was caught off-guard by the abrupt change, “what do you mean?”

“You guys are different than you used to be.”

“What do you mean?” Louis repeated stupidly.

“I mean,” Marshall replied, “you’re not all over each other like you were before. Maya mentioned it to me a few months back, think at Halloween. You guys weren’t makin’ out or anythin’ in front of people, but you’d always be touchin’ in some way without even thinkin’ about it, but she noticed you both find reasons to not be next to each other, usually usin’ the kids as an excuse.”

“We don’t—”

“Maybe it’s not an intentional thing, but you do. She still holdin’ that Sophie thing over your head?”

“Nothin’ happened with her,” Louis said moodily. “There’s nothin’ to hold over my head.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, “then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Louis admitted, taking a swig of his beer. “We’re just not that close anymore. Not naturally, anyway. Think it’s been since Molly was born. It’s hard to be close when you have a couple of young kids wreaking havoc.”

“Don’t blame the fuckin’ kids.” Marshall was glad to have something that took his mind off of mourning, “you guys have the money to keep a nanny and could if the kids were the problem.”

“Why’s it matter to you?”

“Because you’re my brother and, through law, she’s my sister. And I need somethin’ else to focus on.”

“I’m not lyin’ when I say I don’t know.”

“When’s the last time you fucked?”

“Marshall—” Louis began to protest.

“Louis,” Marshall mocked. “You brought me here to talk and I talked. It’s your turn. If you don’t want to, then pay so I can go home.”

Louis ran his hand through his hair, “you’re a fuckin’ pain” to which Marshall shrugged. “The last time was maybe a month and a half ago ‘round New Year’s, but it wasn’t anythin’. Lyla’d kill me if she knew I was sayin’ this to you.”

“Won’t say a word,” Marshall said, making the sign of the cross.

“Yeah, well… we mostly have sex because one of us needs a release and the other’s willin’ to do it. It’s not because there’s passion there. And you say not to blame the kids, but the last time we did somethin’ because we needed each other was after we got back from Asia and before Molly was born. Then it wasn’t until Fall when we had sex again, and we’ve just been goin’ through the motions.”

“Shit, didn’t think it was that bad. Wouldn’t’ve noticed if… Maya hadn’t said anythin’.” He finished off his burger and washed it down with the rest of the coke. “I’m takin’ Matty to a therapist tomorrow to help him figure things out since I’m at a loss. Maybe you guys need to see one too.”

“How’re you payin’ for therapy?”

“I’ll start workin’ again. Soon. I have my savings. Maya had some I didn’t know about too, so I’m usin’ what I need right now.”

“Where’d she get savings from?”

Marshall grinned, “you know she had her ways,” but then lost his smile almost immediately, thinking about her. “She worked as a cam girl online while we were on tour and saved mostly all of it. Only found out when the company tried contactin’ her about gettin’ back into it.”

Louis shook his head, “she was one of a kind.”

“Yeah. But this isn’t about her. Try counsellin’ or somethin’. Marriage might be an idiot institution, but you two are different. And you have kids who’re gonna pick up on these things.”

They talked for awhile longer before deciding to stop for groceries and head back to Marshall’s. He wouldn’t admit it, but Marshall did feel better after spending some time with adults away from the house.

Marshall led the way up the stairs to his home, unlocked the door, and stepped in. The lights were on with the window in the living room opened a crack and the pizza boxes, clothes, and dishes had all been cleaned. There was a faint lemon scent from the floor cleaner. Louis and Marshall took their shoes off and went searching for Lyla and Mateo. In a small place, it doesn’t take long. They were on Marshall’s bed, Mateo bathed and in his pajamas in a deep sleep while Lyla watched the television on mute with subtitles. When she saw the brothers, she smiled and turned the TV off before sneaking out of the bed and closing the door behind her.

“Thanks,” Marshall began.

“What on Earth have you been doing?” she cut in angrily.

Marshall didn’t have anything to say and waited for her to elaborate.

“Why haven’t you gone grocery shopping? No one should be feeding their child pizza every day!”

“We got groceries,” he offered. “Told you she was goin’ to bring that up,” he murmured to Louis.

“Of course, I am! I get that you’re hurt and you have the right to be, but you can’t just go through the motions with your kids, especially not someone like Mateo who is so sensitive. He picks up on things too easily and is terrified if you try to leave him for even one second.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m with the kid every day. We’re workin’ on it.”

“You could have ordered some fucking groceries then. Literally all you have is baby formula, milk, and cereal. That’s not even enough for a balanced breakfast!”

“Lyla,” Louis cut in, “we’ve got the groceries and we’ve talked about it. He’s on it.”

“You’re not the only one who misses her, you know,” Lyla continued, mostly ignoring her husband. “But she’d be so pissed if she saw how you were acting.”

“Louie, take your wife home before I start sayin’ things to make it worse,” Marshall said before storming off to join his sons.

“You need to lay off him,” Louis demanded, “and avoid bringin’ Maya into it.”

“I need to bring Maya into it otherwise he doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”

“You think he doesn’t realize? Of course he does. All he’s thinkin’ about is what she’d do or what he could’ve done. He feels guilty for her death and it’s all he thinks about. He doesn’t need you addin’ to it.”

“He should feel guilty,” Lyla returned.

Louis was speechless. He never knew her to be cruel, especially not to family.

“He should not have gone to work the so soon after she got back from a three-day stint in the hospital. She was weak and in pain. No matter what she said, he shouldn’t have gone. She would still be here if he had stayed. He’s the reason she’s—”

“Shut up,” Louis interrupted rather loudly. “He can hear you and you’re spewin’ a whole lot of shit that you’re goin’ to regret later. I don’t even know what to say to you. He is my brother and he just lost the only woman who he truly cared for and loved. If it were you in the ground, d’you think I’d just be able to carry on and be strong for the kids? ‘Cause I don’t think I would, especially not less than a month later. And I wouldn’t care to hear the opinions of some… righteous bitch on your birthday! I—” He cut himself off, too angry to speak any further, and stormed out of his brother’s house to make his way home alone.

Lyla stood stupefied with tears stinging her eyes. Louis had never called her anything negative before, even when they really got on each other’s nerves. She had grown very close to Maya, even closer than she had ever been with Lizzy, especially now that they rarely saw each other, and she missed her so much. Lyla stopped going to boxing altogether. It was different going alone when she knew that her partner would be back after some post-partum R&R. If she went alone now, she would just be doing something that she and her friend used to only do with one another. Maya always made her feel better about herself as a woman, as a wife, and as a mother because she never took bullshit from anyone. And she was gone because of some stupid post-pregnancy complication. In the twenty-first century. It was infuriating. And she needed to blame someone.

She sat on the edge of the sofa and began sobbing into her hands, thinking of all the things that Maya wouldn’t get to see: Mateo’s upcoming first day of school or his graduation way down the line; Tomas and Lucas’ first steps or first words; starting work as an event planner and flourishing; opening a successful firm like she had wanted. It was like her life was finally where she had wanted it to be, but the cruel, cold universe had other plans. How was it fair?

A few moments passed, and she saw no sign of the tears stopping, but she felt the space on the sofa next to her sink down. She glanced through her fingers to see Marshall leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “Louis is right. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I’m sorry.”

“You miss her. I get it,” he said simply.

She cried until she decided she’d had enough and took deep shaking breaths to steady herself. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered.

“It is a bit,” Marshall disagreed.

“No,” she argued. “You are pig-headed and stubborn, and Maya was the same. It was easier to agree with her than spend hours arguing. I would have done the same.”

He shrugged, clearly not convinced.

“Has Mateo said why he doesn’t want to be left alone? He didn’t seem too affected by you leaving but just the idea of being alone.”

“No, he hasn’t said, but it’s probably from bein’ alone while his mother lay dead in the bathroom, even if he didn’t know.” He spoke a little harsher than intended and took a deep breath, “I don’t know how long he was alone. I think he just needs to see that the person who is takin’ care of him is goin’ to be okay. You’re right that he’s a sensitive kid. Strange for havin’ me and Maya for parents.”

“I didn’t even think of that. Poor little Mateo.”

Marshall nodded, “he’ll get through it. Bringin’ him to therapy tomorrow and for every Monday until he starts feelin’ like himself again. Hopefully he’ll be okay for September.”

“Oh,” Lyla said simply, “good.”

“I told Lou that you two should probably seek some counsellin’. Maya brought it up a few months ago. You’re not like you used to be.”

Lyla made a movement like a shrug but said nothing.

“When we see the doc tomorrow, I’ll see if she’s got any suggestions.”

* * *

  
Lyla returned home to a quiet house, most of the lights turned off. It wasn’t all that late, but she knew Louis was probably fuming in bed as he worked on some song or answering band emails or something else to calm himself down. Ben and Molly would be in bed, and August was most likely be in his room, hopefully sans Anna. She couldn’t get used to the idea of him growing up in a sexual way, especially when he had always seemed so innocent and naïve. Besides, he had school in the morning. He was nearing the end of his core education and would soon be sitting the SATs; he would also be graduating from Juilliard in the next year after studying at the school full time for five years. The kid was working on compositions right and left, writing theses, and playing in a band in his spare time on campus. He was working on polishing music for an album release as well as working part-time at the station on site. Lyla wondered how he found time for it all and a girlfriend. She supposed it helped that Anna was trying to dance her way into a spot with the New York Ballet Company; they were both extremely busy and it worked for them.

She tidied the dishes in the kitchen and organized things here and there, killing time so that she wouldn’t have to face Louis, but eventually she had to go to sleep to be ready for work. If Louis didn’t want to sleep next to her, he could take the spare room. Though she knew she was in the wrong, she felt defiant as she checked in on the sleeping Ben and Molly. But as soon as she walked into her bedroom and saw Louis with his newly-obtained reading glasses sitting on the bed, reading something on his laptop, her defiance dissipated completely. She felt immediately small.

“Hey,” he said, which somehow made her feel worse despite its friendly intent.

“Hi,” she replied almost shyly before disappearing into the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed. When she exited the bathroom in her robe, Louis was still on his laptop and glanced up at her before shutting it down and setting his glasses on the side table.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment of Lyla awkwardly glancing over at Louis repeatedly while she dressed in her PJs.

“No, I was an ass,” she sighed before sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one callin’ you a bitch and you’re the one sayin’ sorry?”

“We both said things we didn’t mean.”

He nodded, “that’s right. But I’m sorry too.”

“Marshall says we need therapy.”

“Yeah, he told me the same thing.”

“When did he become such a proponent for therapy?”

“He’s probably seein’ things in a different way right now.”

Lyla pulled the covers over her, “do you want to? Go to therapy, I mean.”

“Do you think we need to?”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “If we know there’s a problem, can’t we just figure it out ourselves?”

“Louis, it took Marshall pointing whatever this is out for us to even start talking about it. I don’t think we can solve it ourselves. I think getting a therapist is a great idea.”

“Alright,” he replied, sinking down into their bed and reaching to turn off the light. “I’ll look into it in the mornin’.”


	44. March 2013

_March 2013_

Louis and Lyla sat awkwardly in the earth tone office of Dr. Analise Flowers who they would see for the next few weeks leading up to Louis leaving for The Connelly Brothers’ tour and hopefully after he returned if they needed it. There were large windows letting in light from outside, partially obscured by a surplus of plants sitting on the ledge or on top of the bookshelf or hanging from the ceiling. The furniture and colours were all meant to create a comforting atmosphere. Maybe it worked with other people.

“Lyla and Louis,” Dr. Flowers began, “tell me a little about yourselves.”

They both glanced at each other, speaking with no words as they were accustomed to do in front of other people, and decided that Louis would begin, “uh, well, Lyla’s an instructor at Juilliard and plays with the Philharmonic. I’m the singer and play guitar in a band. We—”

“He writes the songs too,” Lyla cut in. “And they’re pretty successful. He likes to downplay how big of a deal it is.”

Louis chuckled, “yeah, okay, I write the songs too. We have three kids: August, Ben, and Molly.”

The doctor smiled, “how old are your children?”

Lyla fielded this question: “August is seventeen, Ben is almost four, and Molly is fourteen months.”

“That’s quite a big age gap between August and Ben. What’s the story there?”

“Oh, it’s a very dramatic story, but basically we were nineteen and twenty-one when we met and conceived August, but then didn’t see each other for eleven years. We reconnected, married, and continued our family.”

“I’d like to hear a little more,” Dr. Flowers urged. “Tell me about the night you met and all that happened up to the birth of Ben.” She noticed Lyla glance at the clock and smiled, “don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time.”

Lyla and Louis took turns telling the story they had told a million times before, retelling what happened in the following years leading up to Ben’s birth, including Louis’ meeting with his father and their miscarriage.

“It sounds like you’ve both been through your share of hardships, both alone and together and have managed to make it through together in strength. What brings you here today?”

“To put it simply, we’re in a rut and we don’t know why,” Louis said.

“We love each other, and we work together and do things that we’ve always done, but we don’t feel as close to one another as we did before.”

“Louis, do you agree with this?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“When did you both start feeling this way?”

“Uh,” Louis began, looking unsure, “I guess… for me anyway, it was after Molly was born.”

“Lyla, is this the same for you?”

She quickly glanced at Louis before looking back at the doctor, “no. It was earlier for me.”

Louis tried his best to keep his face neutral until a thought came to him, “it’s not because of Sophie, is it?”

Lyla rolled her eyes, “no, but she didn’t help.”

“Who’s Sophie?”

“She’s this… woman who has had her eyes on Louis for years. She showed up in Thailand when his band was on tour and was photographed hanging all over him when he was… under the influence.”

“Is this Sophie a source of infidelity?”

“No!” Louis responded quickly, “I didn’t even know she was there until Lyla sent me the pictures. The woman is just a thorn. I’ve only ever wanted Lyla.”

Lyla shook her head and focused the conversation again, “it was before that anyway. After London.”

“What happened in London?”

“The band was touring Europe and had a break,” Lyla explained. “I flew out with August, Ben, my nephew, and his mother so that we could visit Louis and his brother. It was a lovely two weeks. We all had a good time. But after I got home, it felt like it didn’t happen. That was in August and I didn’t see him again until December. In that time, something changed but I don’t know what.”

“Had your band been on tour before?”

Louis shook his head, “just the east coast and we were home during the week, workin’ our day jobs. Nothin’ big or overseas. We have another tour comin’ up though. I’m worried what that’s goin’ to mean for us.”

“It won’t mean anything, love,” Lyla said, trying to comfort him. “We’ll be okay.”

“I don’t want to just be okay.”

“It sounds to me,” Dr. Flowers cut in, “that you two are struggling to transition into this new lifestyle where you might be apart for months at a time and don’t know how go back to normal once you’re back together, which is perfectly fine. You were once away from each other for a long time and got on with your lives. Lyla, from what you told me, it sounds like you snapped back to reality very quickly after you met Louis, but Louis, it sounds like you were stuck in the fantasy for awhile. It makes sense; you’re a poet. But when you were apart once and came back together, it was, in a word, magical. When you come back now, it’s not magical, it’s normal and that’s an adjustment you might have to make.”

“It’s not Louis’ fault,” Lyla jumped in. “That’s not fair.”

Dr. Flowers smiled and agreed, “it’s no one’s fault. It’s a transition that we need to work on getting used to. It’s clear that you love and care for each other very deeply, but we need to work on strengthening that relationship. You may have a seventeen-year-old son, but you’ve only truly been together for a handful of years. You may think that you know each other very well, but you haven’t been together as long as your history suggests.”

“Well, if I’m goin’ away, isn’t that just gonna make it worse? Should I stay?”

“No!” Lyla answered, “you can’t do that! We’ll figure it out.”

“How often do you go out on dates, just the two of you?”

“We haven’t been out for a date in a while,” Lyla answered.

“Okay, what I’m going to suggest,” offered Dr. Flowers, “is once a week, leading up to the tour, you have a date night. You get dressed up, go somewhere you’ve never been or do something you’ve never done, or take turns going to places and doing things that only one of you has done, and get to know something about each other. Having that alone time outside of the bedroom and outside of the house might just give you the time together that you need to feel comfortable again. Do you think this is something you could do over the next few weeks?”

“Yes,” they both answered.

“So, this week, go out somewhere. Without saying anything to the effect of ‘tell me something I don’t know about you’ and without telling the other person, report back next week in our session, and you’ll tell me and each other something new that you learned about the other. You can alternate weeks, deciding where to go. Lyla, you can start this week. Does this sound okay?”

They nodded.

“Alright, then I will see you next week at the same time.”

The two left the doctor’s office feeling possibly less comfortable than before and walked in silence until they were out of the building.

“What day do you want to go?” Lyla asked.

“We could go tomorrow night. You have a later start on Fridays and Thursday night won’t be as busy as Friday or Saturday. Unless we want busy.”

“No, Thursday works. What do you want to do?”

“Hey, the doctor said that was up to you.”

* * *

  
“I know Dr. Flowers said to dress nice,” Lyla said Thursday night when she got home, “but if we dress nice, we’ll look like idiots. So, dress like a slob. Or at least in comfortable clothes that are easy to move in.”

“Why?” Louis laughed. “What are we doin’?”

“Something we’ve never done before. At least, I haven’t. If you have, that’ll be my thing I learn about you and I’ll have a lot of questions,” she smiled.

After dinner and once the sitter arrived, August being at Anna’s house, Lyla and Louis got in the car they called and were driven twenty minutes to their destination. When they pulled up to the large building, Louis laughed, “you’re kiddin’ right?” She had brought them to a trampoline park. “You realize we’re gonna be three times as old as most of the people in there, right?”

Lyla shrugged, “I always wanted to go to one and figured it’d be fun.”

“It will be. My back just won’t let me move in the mornin’.”

She lightly pushed him, “you’re in better shape than I am, so watch it.”

They entered the building, which had a fair amount of people – mostly preteens – in it, bought their tickets and their special trampolining socks that were suspiciously similar to the ones Ben wore when he started walking, and listened to the safety instructions before being let loose in the park, which had trampolines in every corner and against every wall with some cornered off places for organized games. They walked to an empty corner to start their childish escapades, laughing all the while.

Each taking a square trampoline, they jumped as high as they could until it turned into a contest to see who could jump the highest. Having the height and weight advantage, Louis of course won, but then Lyla, wanting to show off, said, “watch this.” She hopped to a longer trampoline, bounced high, and then did a series of sloppy flips and cartwheels before crash-landing in laughter on the other side.

“Where the hell’d that come from?”

“The school I went to – before Juilliard, I mean – had a gymnastics team that I was a part of for a few years until it started interfering with cello and my dad made me quit. I loved it, but dad didn’t. I was pretty good but haven’t done any of that in years. I’m surprised I did as well as I did, but I’m going to regret it tomorrow.”

Louis laughed and helped her to her feet, “maybe a nice bath for your muscles is due when we get home.” He led her back to the square trampolines where they resumed jumping aimlessly, doing basic flips when they got enough air. “When me and Marshall were young kids,” Louis shouted over the music as they jumped, taking a breath every fourth word or so, “before mam died still, we’d get in trouble from jumpin’ bed to bed and doin’ flips in the air. I’m surprised we didn’t break our necks.”

“You shared a room?”

“Yeah, until da left actually. The stories I could tell…”

“I’m sure all completely appropriate for polite company,” Lyla joked.

He laughed breathlessly and had to slow down. “Want to try the foam pit?”

“Only if you promise to fish me out when I get stuck,” she said, stopping immediately.

“’Course.”

They spent their remaining hour swinging off ropes and jumping as high as they could to land in the foam pit, competing against each other like children would. When their time was up, they stumbled to their locker to get their belongings and some water, and left, still feeling like they were walking on trampolines even on the pavement outside. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

“Yeah, sure, what’d you have in mind?”

“What about that place?” Lyla asked, pointing at a random diner. “Been there?”

Louis grinned, “you know I haven’t.”

“Let’s hope it’s good.”

It was. The food was greasy and would upset their stomachs a little later, but it was worth it. They sat talking and eating until their remaining fries grew cold, and then they decided it was time to head home via the subway.

“I think I will have that bath,” Lyla said as they said goodbye to their babysitter who had put the kids down. “I can already feel my muscles starting to tense up.”

“Do you want some help with that?” Louis offered, taking a step closer to her.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, “thank you, love. I think I’m just going to soak and then head to bed though.”

He kissed her back and smiled, “alright, I’m going to hang out down here then. I’ll talk to you later.” Louis left to the office quickly.

Lyla watched him make his exit, feeling a kernel of guilt. This was part of the problem. Whenever Louis wanted to be intimate, Lyla wasn’t in the mood and vice versa. They were so much more out of sync than they used to be. But she wasn’t sure sex inspired by guilt was the best way to fix whatever it was they were going through. “Love you,” she called after him.

“Love you too,” he called back before she climbed the stairs to take her bath.

Feeling a bit dejected, a frustratingly familiar feeling in the last year, he decided to focus his energy on the band, something that had become the norm, especially in the last month with Marshall being MIA. They had been receiving a lot more messages and emails; it was hard to keep up with all of them, but he had a lot of time on his hands being basically unemployed, so enjoyed having something to focus on.

After the thirteenth response he sent off, he heard the front door open and close. “A little late, Aug.” It was nearing midnight and the kid had an eight o’clock class next morning. His son slumped down in Lyla’s office chair instead of going to his room. “What’s goin’ on, man?” Louis asked, spinning to face August.

“Me and Anna had another fight,” he huffed.

“Another? When’d you have a fight before?”

He shrugged, “we don’t get along all of the time.”

That was vaguest response Louis could think of but pushed on, “what’d you fight about this time?”

“I don’t even know. She was just mad at me and wouldn’t tell me why.”

Louis chuckled, “usually if they do that, you’re not the one they’re actually mad at.”

“Yeah, but it’s annoying. We just spent the night arguing over nothing until I decided to leave. It’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, man, I get it. Just give her a day and then ask her about it.”

“I don’t know. I think I want to break up with her. We fight too much, and I don’t think she cares about me as much as she cares about her dancing.”

“Well, then meet up, ask her about it, then tell her it’s not workin’ out.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uncle Marshall says you’ve never dumped a girl. Just been the dumpee.”

“’Course he did. Well you’ll be smarter than your da. Sometimes things aren’t meant to last and you gotta call it.”

“Isn’t it better to work through it? Like you and mom?”

“What do you mean?” Louis repeated.

“I’m not dumb, I know you’re going to therapy or whatever.”

“You’re not supposed to know that. And yeah, sometimes you work at it. But you and Anna are different than me and your mam. We’re married for one. Have kids for another. We own a house together. If you and Anna split up, you go about your lives as normal. Me and your mam’s life would fall apart completely without each other, and we’d affect so many other people’s lives too. We need each other. I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem like you and Anna are there.”

He shrugged, “no, I guess not. But I don’t know what I’d even say to her.”

“There’s no good way to break up with someone. Just say that you don’t think it’s workin’ and that you should both just focus on yourselves with graduation comin’ fast. Don’t blame her for anythin’ and you’ll be good.”

August seemed unsure, “I guess I’ll think about it.” He stood and rolled the office chair as far under the desk as it would go. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Louis stood and gave his son a quick hug before August disappeared towards the basement. Louis shutdown the computer and made his way up to his bedroom. When he walked in, Lyla was naked, rubbing shea butter into her skin. All he could think about was how long it had been since they had last made love and how much he wanted to throw her onto the bed and make her scream. But she pulled her robe on quickly and Louis said he was going to take a quick shower.

When he left the bathroom a little more relaxed than before, Lyla was curled under the covers with her bedside table lamp off. Louis pulled on a pair of sweats and slid in next to her, turning off his light as he did. She shifted close to him and draped her arm over his back, kissing the nape of his neck, “goodnight, love.”

He kissed her hand, “goodnight.”

* * *

  
“I know your date night was a surprise,” Louis said a little after their therapy session, “but I want to check my idea with you first just in case you don’t want to do it.”

“I’ll be okay with anything,” Lyla assured him as they walked towards their home.

“Yeah, but… okay, well, I was thinkin’ you could show me some of that boxin’.” He glanced at her to gauge her reaction, but she gave nothing away. “I know that it was yours and Maya’s thing, so I don’t want to do it if you don’t feel comfortable with it.”

Lyla didn’t respond immediately. The thought of going to her gym, knowing that Maya would never go with her again, upset her. But she did love boxing and the strength she felt. She could face everyone again if Louis was there and maybe it would help her move forward. “Okay,” she said after a lengthy pause, “but there aren’t any classes on Thursday. It’s just an open gym.”

“You could show me what you know. I’m kind of interested in seein’ what you can do.”

She smiled and agreed, and the next evening, they were on their way to Lyla and Maya’s gym. It felt strange going back to the gym. Lyla had been going alone for months as Maya no longer had the energy or desire or capability of movement to continue going, but she always knew they would go back together. She wasn’t sure if anyone even knew Maya was dead and prepared herself with having to explain seven hundred times.

Louis and Lyla dropped off their belongings in the changing rooms and then met in the main gym area. Lyla guided her husband to one of the benches and showed him how to wrap his hands to protect his knuckles.

“Lyla!” a man’s voice sounded.

Louis looked to its owner only to be faced by some Greek God. He understood why Maya had taken a liking to this particular gym.

“I haven’t seen you in a couple of months. I thought you gave up on us.”

“Ray,” Lyla said, standing to greet the insanely attractive man, “this is my husband, Louis.” They shook hands, “sorry, I’ve been preoccupied with work and everything.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. It’s good to see you back. Your wife is really good; she’ll teach you a lot. Has Maya had her babies yet? It must be that time by now.”

“Uh, yeah,” Lyla said awkwardly. “Twin boys – Lucas and Tomas.”

“Oh, that’s great. And they’re both healthy? Everyone’s good?”

“The twins are good. Healthy. Maya actually…” she cleared her throat. “Maya passed away due to… complications.”

Ray’s easygoing attitude changed immediately, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No, I’m sorry, I should’ve let you known. It was back in January already. It’s been tough on the family.”

“Of course. No, that’s fine. Understandable. I’m really sorry to hear that. I really liked her, and she was very talented. I’m glad to see you back. Please give my best to the family.”

Lyla assured him that she would, and he rushed off to some other corner of the gym.

“You alright?” Louis asked.

Lyla sighed, “yeah. I’ll have to get used to doing that, I guess.” She looked at Louis’ sloppily taped hands and smiled, “let me fix that and then we’ll get started.” She led Louis to one of the punching bags set up, “in boxing, you always have to keep your feet moving. Put this foot,” she patted his left shin, “forward and the other back, but stay on the balls of your feet so that you can move more quickly.”

Louis did as he was told, “I feel like a lunatic.”

Lyla laughed, “you have to get used to it. Now, keep your left hand here,” she positioned his arm so that it served as protection for his face, “and focus your right hand on delivering the punch. We’ll start with a hook, which is pretty straightforward.” She positioned her feet and hands, and quickly delivered the punch to the bag to demonstrate, “you try.”

He did. “How’s that?”

“It’s fine, but you need to bend your right arm a little more. If you deliver it straight like that, it’s a cross. With a hook, you’re more aiming for the side of the bag.” As he stood still, she bent and shaped his body to resemble what she had in mind.

“You ever watch that improv comedy show? Where’s the four people and they have to do random shit?”

“I think I know what you’re talking about.”

“This reminds me of the one where they get someone from the audience to come and move the actors’ bodies to fit the scene. You know the one I mean?”

She chuckled, “yeah, I guess that’s pretty much what this is.” Lyla stood again the way she wanted Louis to stand. “Now when you are punching, make sure the power is coming from your body, not just your arm. Turn your body like this,” she slowly twisted her body, “and follow through into the opponent like this.” She punched the bag in slow motion, showing Louis how to hold himself, and he followed through in similar fashion. “Excellent, love,” she grinned.

They spent the next ninety minutes with Lyla teaching Louis different moves and then combining the different moves and sparring at a very basic level. When they had finished their session and were sufficiently wiped, they gathered their belongings and headed for home.

“You’re an amazing woman,” he said after walking some time in silence. “You know that, right?”

Lyla felt embarrassment, “why do you say that?”

“You’re just so many things and you’re so good at all of them. A wife, a mother, a friend, a cellist, a teacher, a boxer, and about five hundred other things on any given day. It’s brilliant.”

“I’m not a good wife,” she murmured. “We wouldn’t need therapy if I were.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? Have I ever felt unloved? No. Unhappy? No. Uncared for? No. How can you think you’re not a good wife? This thing we’re goin’ through isn’t because you’re a bad wife or I’m a bad husband. Dr. Flowers is right that we’re just havin’ trouble adjustin’ to a new way of doin’ things.”

“But after our date last weekend, when you wanted to… I feel guilty for the amount of times I haven’t wanted to. I should want to more.”

“Lyla, you’re bein’ ridiculous. I don’t want you to have sex with me because you feel guilty. If you’re not in the mood, you’re not in the mood. Simple as that. I will survive. And you’re not the only one who’s said no.”

“I’m the one who’s saying no the most though.”

Louis stopped walking and put his hands on his wife’s shoulders so that she was facing him, and he could look into her eyes, “you are the fuckin’ love of my life. There’s literally nothin’ you could do that would change that. We could go the rest of our lives never havin’ sex and I would still be yours. Though I’d probably spend a lot more alone time in the shower.”

Lyla laughed and rolled her eyes, and they continued walking hand-in-hand. “Maybe we need to force ourselves to be in the mood.”

“How’s that?”

“Just say something like every Thursday after our date night, we have sex. No matter what. Maybe that will break the funk.”

“Won’t that just make us feel resentful? I don’t want sex to be a chore for either of us.”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I just want us to be like we were.”

Louis thought for a moment. “Do you remember what it felt like? The first night we were together?”

She smiled, “it was the happiest I could ever remember myself being up to that point. I remember waking up and feeling like my whole world had changed.”

“I remember the spark. I felt connected to you immediately when we kissed, but it was your fingers on my cheek and on my skin that sent fire everywhere. I remember thinkin’ how soft your skin was. And how smooth. And I remember thinkin’ how much I liked your hands in my hair, your fingernails scratchin’ my scalp. I remember the sound you made when I was inside you for the first time; it was just the way you inhaled. I remember thinkin’ how good it felt to be in that position with someone like you who I felt so connected to. We were stupid shits for not usin’ a condom, but I remember just thinkin’ that you were it. Life would only get worse without you in it.”

“You knew that in just a single moment?”

“’Course I did. And I’ve known that every moment since.”

She kissed his hand, thinking about that night: how scared and excited she had been, how out-of-character she was behaving, how the goosebumps from the cool night air disappeared under the weight and heat of the stranger on top of her. For the first time in awhile, she thought they might be on the same wavelength. “Do you want me now?”

“I always want you,” he whispered in her ear.

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” he interrupted. “Yes, I do.”

They were in a fairly busy area. Lyla paused and scanned the vicinity until she saw a busy restaurant-bar. “Come with me,” she demanded, dragging him along behind her. She led them into the building and scanned the busy bar for a sign indicating where the washrooms were. Across the room, she spotted the tacky neon sign and headed straight for the men’s washroom. “Check that it’s clear,” she whispered, and Louis disappeared to check that no one was within before reappearing a moment later and pulling her in. They headed straight for a stall in the corner of the small bathroom and locked the door behind them.

Louis nuzzled Lyla’s neck, kissing her soft skin as she pushed down her leggings. He groped her exposed skin, marvelling at how simultaneously firm and supple her body was. Lyla leaned forward with her hands against the stall door and her legs as far apart as her leggings would allow, urging Louis to take her, which he did eagerly.

She inhaled sharply once she felt him inside her for the first time in months. He wrapped his one hand around her waist and worked his fingers between her thighs while he buried himself vigorously inside of her. Lyla moaned and leaned her forehead against the door, focusing on the pleasure radiating from Louis to every corner of her body.

It was quick and messy and not particularly romantic, but it was something that they both needed. Lyla came first, and Louis followed shortly after; they stood still for a moment, breathing heavily until Louis kissed her neck again and pulled away. “Think we needed that,” he said, cleaning himself up.

Lyla chuckled breathlessly, “agreed.” She turned to face him, drawing him into a long kiss. “Let me clean up,” she whispered. “Go keep watch.”

They kissed before he took their bags to the sinks to wash up.

“Can you check if anyone’s coming down the hall before I come out?” Lyla asked with her hand on the lock.

“I’m leavin’ your bag on the counter,” he informed her before poking his head out of the bathroom door. Not seeing anyone, he called back, “coast is clear.”

“Okay, stand guard, soldier,” she joked.

For a place that was as packed as the bar was, not a lot of people were using the bathrooms. A couple of women paid no attention to him as they used the ladies’, but Lyla appeared before any men tried to use the men’s. She took hold of his arm and they walked towards the exit to continue their journey home, but they were stopped by a couple of drunk fans of The Connelly Brothers.

“Hey, you’re Louis Connelly!” one guy said as another took pictures.

Louis pushed the phone out of his face, “yeah, thanks for the support,” he said non-committedly.

“Is this your wife?” the guy continued. “You have fun tonight?” His tone seemed to suggest knowledge of what Louis and Lyla had been up to.

“Right,” Louis said, a bit irritated, “I’m not famous enough to have you houndin’ me. I’m out with my wife. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Fucking dick.”

“You’re the dick,” Lyla returned. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“Lyla, don’t,” Louis sighed, pushing her towards and out the door.

“What an asshat,” Lyla complained when they were out and walking towards the subway.

“Asshat?” Louis laughed, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call someone an asshat before.”

She elbowed him playfully, “I only reserve it for special occasions.”

“Yeah, well don’t rise to the bait of guys like that. ‘Specially when they’re drunk.”

“I can’t even imagine how people who are super famous deal with that on a daily basis.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t ever find out.”

They arrived home close to ten to a household full of sleeping children and paid the babysitter before retiring to their room.

“Thanks for showin’ me all that tonight,” Louis said from the shower as Lyla got ready for bed. “It’s really cool to see what you can do. You’re amazin’.”

“It was a good idea,” she replied after spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. “It was nice to get back in and wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be without Maya. Though it still doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s kinda funny you guys were so close, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I never expected it. She was so good to have though. It makes me so sad to know she’s gone. Just like that.”

Louis turned off the shower and Lyla handed him a towel. “She was a pretty big part of our lives. I get it.” He kissed her cheek as she continued to brush her teeth, “I’ll see you in a bit.” After drying off completely, he hung up his towel and crawled under the covers to wait for his wife.

* * *

  
“How are you feeling about being away for a few months?” Dr. Flowers asked Louis in their last session before his tour started.

“Real uneasy,” he admitted. “I don’t want us to grow distant or anythin’. I mean, we’ve been—well, I’ve been feelin’ closer to our normal.”

“I have too. And we won’t grow distant,” Lyla assured him. “We’ll talk like we did on your last tour.”

“I don’t know if that’ll help,” he worried. “It didn’t last time.”

“Well, we have to work consciously at it. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to be worried,” Dr. Flowers interrupted. “The truth is: we won’t know how you feel until Louis is back, and your lives continue on as normal. But based on what you’ve told me, I’d say that maybe all you really need to do is try different things. You’re a couple that seems to thrive on uncertainty and excitement, so maybe you need to make it a point of trying new things when you’re back together on breaks and after the tour. Most couples that come to me argue frequently and struggle to find common ground. All I see from you two is love and passion that’s a little bit out of sync. You’re not a couple in trouble; I think you just need to be more adventurous with each other.”

“You know that after three sessions?” Lyla asked skeptically.

“I think there are some things that you need therapy for – feeling comfortable enough with one another to try new things, both in the bedroom and out of it, and growing as a couple rather than just parents – but I don’t think we need to see each other weekly. I recommend monthly sessions once Louis gets back so that you have a safe place to talk and develop. There are plenty of couples like yourselves who don’t have relationship-ending problems but still participate in therapy to ensure their relationship remains this way. I’ll leave it up to you but think about it.”

As always, Lyla and Louis walked silently for the first little bit of their journey back home, mulling over what was said during their sessions, before they spoke.

“Is there anythin’ you ever wanted to try durin’ sex that we haven’t done?”

Lyla felt her face redden, “uh, I don’t know.”

“Liar,” he grinned. “It’s funny that she suggested that though because I got you a present for your birthday that’ll work well. It’ll either piss you off or embarrass the shit out of you.”

“Oh no,” Lyla said as Louis laughed.

* * *

On their last official date night before Louis would leave for his tour, Lyla brought them to a kitchen for a cooking class. Louis teased her, claiming the real reason for the lessons was her desire to make edible food while he was gone, and she didn’t argue. It would be nice to have some nice-tasting food while her husband was gone – her children would be relieved anyway – but she also thought it’d be nice to learn something new together, she as a beginner and he as a pro. And she knew Louis genuinely enjoyed cooking.

They were learning to make Chinese dumplings, which took a lot more patience than Lyla had for food, and which Louis enjoyed thoroughly.

After her third dumpling tore open upon being cooked, she threw down the tongs she was using, “I hate this. Worst birthday ever.”

“You’re the one who wanted to do it in the first place,” Louis reminded her, trying to stifle a laugh. “Here,” he said, taking the perfect dumpling he was working on, “you’ve gotta work on foldin’ the dough right. You’re rushin’ and missin’ parts, which is why it’s breakin’ open.”

“How on Earth have people been makin’ these for hundreds of years when they take so long to cook? Do people not have lives? It’s so much effort for such a small payoff!”

He kissed her cheek and smiled, “I love you.”

She shook her head and took a new round section of dough and placed a spoonful of filling in the centre before slowly folding it the way Louis showed her. As she fried it, it stayed together, and she grinned widely. “Only five hundred more to go!”

Soon, they were able to sit and eat their creations. “How d’you like it?” Louis asked.

“They’re so good,” she replied with her mouth full. “But I’m never making them again.”

“I like them. I’ll make them at some point.”

“Does it annoy you that you do most of the cooking?”

“Nah, love. It’s my thing. Like yours is cleanin’ up my mess afterwards.”

She laughed, “well if that’s all I have to do, then I’ll take it.”

When they got home a little while later, Louis led Lyla to their bedroom for her birthday gift. “So, I know that I’m leavin’ next week, so I got you a little somethin’ to keep you goin’ until I get back.”

Lyla didn’t like the way he was smirking, “what did you do?”

He coughed but didn’t say anything. Instead, he went into their closet and shuffled things around until he brought out a poorly wrapped gift shaped like a shoebox.

She watched him carefully as he tried to hide his smile; there was a bit of a mischievous glint to his eye as she began to unwrap it. When she saw the image on the box, she felt her face flush red, “oh my God, is this…”

“Yup,” Louis assured her. “For when you’re really missin’ me.” A grin stretched across his face as she threw a crumbled ball of wrapping paper at him.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Told you you’d either be pissed or embarrassed. But I was thinkin’… maybe we could use it tonight. Could be the beginnin’ of tryin’ somethin’ new. What d’you think?”

“I think you’re out of your mind,” she said, shaking her head, “but… you could show me how it works.” Lyla put the box aside and crawled over to him, kissing him slowly. But as she pulled his shirt over his head, shouting could be heard from downstairs. They paused and looked at each other before he pulled his shirt back on and the two of them went to check out what was happening.

“You’re a fucking coward!” Anna screamed, tears streaming down her face as she pulled her boots on.

“That doesn’t even make any sense. You’re the one who screwed up!” August replied in a voice that was just as loud.

“Hey!” Louis shout-whispered as he and Lyla made their way down the stairs, “quiet the fuck down before you wake Ben and Mol.”

“I was just leaving,” Anna replied angrily, pulling on her coat and storming out the front door, leaving it open behind her. Feeling completely out of the loop, Lyla closed and locked the door after her.

“August, what’s goin’ on?”

“We broke up,” he said bitterly, though it was clear there was more to the story.

“August,” Lyla urged.

He sighed and went to sit down in the dining room with his parents following close after. “She came over and I was asking her why she’s been so mean lately. And I was going to say that I was thinking we should break up, but then she told me that she’s been pushing me away because she’s pregnant, which was messed up because…” He glanced between his mother and father before returning his gaze to his folded hands. “Well, then she told me she was with someone else and it was his but she was going to get an abortion and then things would be back to normal. I told her it was over, and she thought I was being ridiculous, and I told her to leave, then…” he trailed off with a shrug.

Louis and Lyla exchanged wide-eyed looks that said, ‘what do we do?’

“August,” Lyla spoke first, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m going to bed,” he replied miserably. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once August had stormed off, Louis whispered, “shit.”

“I was not expecting that,” Lyla agreed.

“How do we even handle somethin’ like this?”

“The poor kid. His first girlfriend being someone like that. I can’t even imagine how he must feel.”

“I say we give him some time – just let him be – and go about things normal for a couple days. Then one of us can talk to him about it.”

Lyla felt like she wanted to smother her son and hug him and comfort him instead, but knew Louis was right. He would just become irritated if they tried talking to him now. She nodded, “okay, but I’m still giving him a big hug in the morning.”

“Alright,” Louis chuckled. “I’m about ready for bed now though. You?”

They climbed the stairs to their room and got ready for bed, their foray into experimental sex halted for another day.

 


	45. May 2013

_May 2013_

Louis and The Connelly Brothers sans Marshall had been on their American tour for the past month, a friend from another local New York band standing in as bassist until August was finished his term for the year; he would then be heading down to Florida to join his father and fill in for his uncle, which he was beyond excited for. It would be fantastic to not only perform in front of people again, but to also get out of the city and the funk he had been in since breaking up with Anna.

Before he was slated to leave in a couple of days, Lyla took the opportunity to check in on Marshall one Saturday since he had recently gone radio silent again. August stayed home with his much younger siblings.

Lyla arrived at the house and used her key to enter, not receiving an answer via text, call, or knock at the door. The blinds were open this time, and it was tidier than it had been last time, but the faint smell of dirty diapers, formula, and man told her there was still some work to do.

“Hello?” she called. “Marshall?”

There was no answer, so she let herself in and closed the door behind her. She kept her shoes on, noting that the floor was in desperate need of a vacuum. In Marshall’s bedroom, she could see the boys down for a nap and the shades closed. Marshall’s bed had been fitted with guardrails to keep Mateo from falling out of the bed as he slept. She hoped that Mateo wasn’t still attached to his caregiver for dear life like he had been when she last looked after him.

There was light streaming down from Maya’s old room, so she climbed the ladder until she could see if Marshall was there. He was sitting on the floor against the bed with boxes all around but seemed to be taking things out of one smaller box rather than putting things in them.

“Marshall,” Lyla said softly.

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice and she saw that his eyes were red. Marshall shook his head irritably and ran his hand across his eyes, “hey, sorry, didn’t hear you.”

“What are you doing?” she asked as she made her way over to him.

“Well,” he sat up straighter, “I’ve been tryin’ to clear some of Maya’s stuff away but keep comin’ across this shit,” he motioned to the box in front of him, “and it’s been impossible. Even from beyond the grave, she’s still messin’ shit up.”

“What is all of this?” she asked, sitting opposite him.

“Sentimental garbage. Pictures and receipts and shit from various things. I guess her memories. Lots of pictures of me and Matty sleepin’, the creep. There’s the plane ticket from when they came to London, and some random shit that we shared. Then she has some other stuff from things she’s done that she was proud of.” He tossed Lyla a notebook, “and this thing she wrote in whenever she was pissed at somethin’… or really happy. I shouldn’t’ve started lookin’.”

“Is this why you’ve been ignoring everyone the past couple of weeks?”

“Ah, it hasn’t been that long,” he argued despite Lyla knowing exactly how long it had been. “I’m thinkin’ of sellin’ most of her stuff, but then her dresser had stuff that needed cleanin’ out. Same with the wardrobe. And she has a shitload of boxes under her bed. A lot to go through.”

“Maybe you should just put all of her stuff inside these boxes to go through later. Get the furniture sold as quickly as you can, then go through the boxes when you’re in a better headspace.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m going to watch the boys for a few hours,” Lyla stated, ignoring the gruffness with which he spoke. “You need to get out of the house and be childfree for a little bit. I’ll clean up and start emptying the dresser and wardrobe.”

“Nah, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“How many times have you worn that shirt? I saw an overflowing basket of laundry in your room. Why not take the time to go do some laundry and check in with the band? Maybe go grocery shopping?”

Marshall miserably threw down a picture he had been holding but said nothing.

Lyla shifted to sit beside him, and they sat for several silent moments as she sifted through the different pictures, smiling at the moments Maya thought important to capture, most of which were, like Marshall had said, of he and Mateo sleeping, usually in the exact same position and ranging from Mateo as a young infant to more recent. Occasionally, Maya would stick her face in to join them. “I knew you loved each other,” Lyla said finally, “even before you guys knew it, I think, but I didn’t really know the extent.” She rested her hand on his forearm, “it’s okay to feel this way, and you can keep thinking about her and remembering her, but you also need to do more than that. I know that you’re taking care of the boys and doing what you can to make sure they’re okay, but I don’t think you’re doing anything for yourself. Have you thought about getting back to work? Or just doing something outside of the house?”

“We leave the house,” he mumbled.

“To go to Mateo’s therapy? Any other times?”

He shrugged.

“I was thinking...” she started, unsure of how to continue.

“Hm?”

“Well… Louis said that you might be struggling… financially—”

“Louis needs to keep his nose out of my business.”

She ignored his irritation and continued, “and I think you’re falling into a pattern of being a bit overwhelmed by taking care of three young kids. So, I was thinking that maybe you and the boys come stay with us. I still have Alessia coming in, so she’ll be able to help out caring for the kids and then take over if you decide to go back to work or whenever you want to do something away from the kids.”

“I’m not going to be a fuckin’ freeloader.”

“I’m not saying that,” she sighed. “You have therapy to pay for and hospital bills that you’re being stubborn about us chipping in for; it’s only a matter of time until you run out of savings and can’t afford to pay rent, if it hasn’t happened already. You’re taking a pay cut from the performances, not being on tour, and I know you know where your finances are right now. Can you really tell me you’re in a good place?”

He opened his mouth to argue but closed it in a huff. “You don’t have the room for us.”

“You’d take the spare room, Mateo would share Ben’s room, and the twins could move in with Molly. I was thinking we might renovate the garage eventually since it’s barely used and have that as a separate place as well. Though that would be a little down the line. And if you’re really worried about being a ‘freeloader’, then you can pay rent or take on something to make life easier for us. I don’t know. But I don’t like you being over here alone, wallowing and treading water just to stay afloat.”

He shook his head.

“Think about it.” Lyla stood up and held her hand out for him to help him up, “and what better place to think than a laundromat?”

Marshall tried to hide his smirk as Lyla pulled him up, “I’ll do the fuckin’ laundry.”

He left the apartment shortly thereafter with three bulging bags of laundry in hand as the taxi pulled up. Lyla figured he’d be gone for three or four hours at least and would hopefully be able to think about her proposal. In the mean time, she would clean and air out the space again, easier now with the cool April air fading into warm May.

As she was in the midst of scrubbing out at least a month’s worth of soap scum from the bathtub, she heard a tiny voice calling for his mother and then his father before sobbing loudly.

Lyla tore off her rubber gloves and threw them in the sink before rushing to meet a crying Mateo in his bed. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

“Where’s da?” he asked, pausing for a confused moment when he saw his aunt appear.

She sat down beside him on the bed and wrapped him in her arms, “he went to do some errands. What’s the matter?”

“I had a bad dream,” he sniffled.

“What happened in the dream?”

He thought for a moment and then said, “I can’t remember. It was scary.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she soothed. “You’re awake now and auntie is here. I have scary dreams sometimes too.”

“You do?” He seemed surprised.

“Everybody does sometimes,” Lyla assured him. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. I’m going to go back to cleaning. Do you want to help?”

Mateo was excited to be of use and Lyla handed him a broom to take to the kitchen and living room floor. He tried his best, though his coordination wasn’t at sweeping levels yet, and they worked together to get the place looking like it was cared for again.

* * *

  
Marshall had his headphones on while his music blended with the hum of machines to drown out the chatter of others in the laundromat. He had brought his laptop with him so that he could check in with the band or answer some emails, but he didn’t have any desire to see what he was missing out on. He knew staying home with Matty and the twins was the right choice, but he was starting to wish he had gone. Looking at photos and answering emails wouldn’t help him feel any less envious.

So, instead, he sat in one of the chairs by his chosen section of washers and dryers and listened to music with his eyes closed. He must have dozed off because when he felt someone tapping his shoulder, he felt himself jolt back to the present. Marshall opened his eyes to see the source of his wakeup call and pushed his headphones down to his neck. “Yeah?”

“Hi,” a bubbly girl with the kind of face that was particularly sickly and punchable, “my name’s Angel, I’m a big fan of your band.” Her voice was nasally, and Marshall was irritated from his sleep being interrupted. Who does that?

“Thanks for the support,” he said monotonously before putting his headphones back on and closing his eyes before feeling a kick on his shin. Marshall again pushed his headphones down, “fuck off.”

“You know, you shouldn’t treat your fans like that,” she whined. “We’re the reason you even have a paycheck.”

Marshall scoffed, “if you’re payin’ me so well, why am I doin’ my laundry here?”

Angel shrugged and sneered, “if you didn’t gamble all your money away or spend it on drugs or whatever, maybe you could get your own washer.”

“You know me so well,” he replied. “It’s not that I have three kids, hospital bills, just paid a shitload for a funeral, and a bunch of other things I need to pay for. How much money d’you think we actually make with your ten-dollar ticket split five ways, huh?”

She rolled her eyes, “maybe you should get a real job then. You’re not even on tour with the rest of the band. What even is that? You’re just a bum.”

He laughed humourlessly, sick of explaining himself. “Fuck off,” he repeated and replaced his headphones, keeping eye contact with his ‘fan’ until she pulled out her phone to snap a picture or video – he wasn’t sure and didn’t care either way – and stormed off. Marshall noticed others around him pointing their phones at him as well. It was surreal. And annoying in the moment. He was sure nobody in the laundromat beside the one girl knew who he was, but they still wanted to get a piece just in case. God forbid they feel left out. He decided the best course of action was to close his eyes again and wait for his laundry.

It took a few hours for everything to dry, but the laundry was soon done and folded in the bags he brought. The clothes fit into their place well and the bags were easier to manage. He was about to head out to hail a taxi when he felt his phone buzz. Taking it from his pocket, he saw the source was an unknown number. In the past couple of months, he had learned to avoid answering those calls. He was still paying off stuff from Maya’s funeral and hospital stay and was behind in payments. He was exactly where he had worked so hard to not be. Marshall’s priorities had been rent and utilities, food and baby supplies, and Mateo’s counselling. The other stuff had fallen to the wayside and he was sure he could feel his credit plummeting with every missed phone call. There was no use answering anymore; he had set up plans that fell through even with reduced monthly payments, and he knew exactly what they would say. He didn’t need it. He’d figure it out soon.

Marshall thought back to Lyla’s offer. He could thrive as a mooch if he wanted to, but that wasn’t how he wanted to be seen. But just getting rid of the rent would improve his situation exponentially; he could always pay rent when he got back on his feet; he could pitch in for groceries right away. Mateo would be ecstatic to share a room with his best friend. And Marshall could get back to taking up shifts at the warehouse – maybe make a dent in his debt.

He wondered if this was a joint Lyla-Louis suggestion or if Lyla had thought of it on her own. If that were the case, he wondered how Louis would feel about his big, admittedly obnoxious brother moving into his basement and adding three more kids to the mix.

As he caught his taxi and took the short trip home, he mulled over the pros and cons, the former far outweighing the latter, which was largely a slight against his pride more than anything else.

When he arrived home, lugging his laundry up the stairs with some effort, he was met with crying infants and the strong scent of lemon cleaner. He dropped the bags on the living room floor as Mateo ran to greet him. Lyla had the two infants on a blanket on the floor as she tried to change a screaming, wriggling Lucas while Tomas cried just as emphatically.

Marshall patted Mateo on the back and went to join the chaos on the floor.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Lyla said, sounding a little out of breath.

“Practice,” he grunted, placing his hand on Tomas’ stomach and wiggling his fingers around until the infant’s cries turned into tired almost-laughs. With the baby placated, he was able to change him quickly and pass him over to an impressed Lyla who then sat with him on the couch. With Lucas, he hadn’t been so lucky to find such a trick. He wrestled the infant out of his dirty diaper and into a new one.

“It doesn’t work with Lucas?” Lyla questioned.

“Nothin’ works with Luke. If he’s upset, he’s upset and there’s nothin’ no one can do to fix it until he gets what he wants. Tom’s more reasonable and’ll wait a few minutes once you give him a bit of attention. Did you try feedin’ them yet?”

She shook her head, “they only woke up ten or fifteen minutes ago.”

He nodded and left Lucas on the floor so that he could get their bottles together. By the time they were ready, Tomas was starting to fuss again. Marshall passed Lyla a bottle before picking up Lucas and sitting on the other end of the couch to feed him. Once both infants were happily drinking, and it was silent, Marshall said, “thanks for cleanin’. Again.”

“You should try it once in awhile,” Lyla joked, recalling how much work the bathroom had taken.

Marshall shrugged, “women do it better. Did you help your auntie, Matty?”

“I sweeped the whole house!” he exclaimed proudly.

He grinned, “I knew it looked extra clean.” He patted the sofa and Matty sat next to him to continue watching children’s TV. After a moment of getting lost in the bright colours, Marshall was back in reality. “I was thinkin’ about your offer from earlier,” he began, wondering if she had come to her senses.

“And?” she urged, seeming more eager than Marshall would have expected.

“I think we could give it a try,” he finished, quickly adding, “this place is too much with all the bills we’ve got right now.” While he said ‘bills’, he meant ‘debt’, but the chosen term felt a lot less like failure than the reality.

Lyla’s face brightened, “excellent! When? How much notice do you need to give?”

“Is Lou on board with this?”

“Of course! Or… he will be. I haven’t talked to him about it yet,” she admitted.

“Well maybe let’s pump the brakes a bit then, yeah?”

“No, it’s done. If he doesn’t like it, too bad. How much notice?”

He sighed, “a month.”

“Okay, well give it right away and then it can be done by June!”

Marshall suddenly felt like that wasn’t very far away at all, but he agreed to get the ball rolling immediately.

* * *

  
Lyla answered her phone eagerly after the first ring, “hello?”

“Hey, love, how’s it goin’?” Louis replied.

“Hi, it’s good. Did he get there okay?”

“Yeah, we’re just goin’ to get a bite. Said the flight was relatively painless.”

August had left for Florida in the late afternoon to join his father’s band and fill in for his uncle while completing something he was very eager to do. He loved performing with the band; it gave him some sort of natural high. But all of his usual performances were often classical, and he was a face in a crowd or the conductor. It was different getting to be a focal point, and he was excited about it.

“Good,” Lyla said, “tell him I love him, and I hope he has fun. Make sure you keep your eye on him.”

She heard Louis pass the message onto their son who replied with his love for his mom. “Don’t worry, he won’t get into trouble. And if he does, we’ll make sure you don’t find out.”

Lyla rolled her eyes and laughed, “I always know.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, “you do.”

“Do you have a second to talk?” she asked, sensing that their conversation was coming to an end.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“What do you think… about Marshall and the boys moving in with us? At least until they’re in a better place.”

“Is he doin’ that bad?”

“He’s okay,” she assured him, “but I think it’d be better if he wasn’t alone so much. And I think he’s having a lot more money troubles than he’s letting on.”

“Why d’you say that?”

“I went over Saturday to get him out of the house – he went and did laundry – and I cleaned up (one thing he hasn’t been doing much of). While I was cleaning, I found a few angry letters from various places. I think mostly medical bills and funeral stuff still. But he’s obviously not paying these things off, which… that’s not really like him, is it?”

“Nah, he’s always been on top of things. Then, yeah, put it out there. I don’t know if he’d go for it—”

“I already asked him,” she interrupted.

Louis laughed, “and if I’d said no?”

“We’d be having a very different conversation now.”

“Yeah, well… he said yes then?”

“Yeah. He said he’d give his notice in right away and would move in at the end of the month.”

“You realize you and Mol are goin’ to be even more outnumbered now?”

“It will just give us more reasons to go do… girly things. I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

“You sure you’ll be okay with them there? That’s five kids under five. A bullet might be less painful.”

Lyla guffawed, “Louis! No, it will be fine. We still have Alessia and Marshall will be home for a little bit. Once he starts back at work, we’re upping Alessia’s pay though.”

“Yeah, good call. Right, we’re just sittin’ down to eat. Talk to you later. Love you.”

“I love you too. Tell August I love him. I’ll talk to you soon.”

* * *

  
June arrived with a heatwave and a speed previously unheard of. All month, Marshall had focused on packing up boxes and selling things they wouldn’t need; everything else would be stored in Louis and Lyla’s basement or garage for future use or disuse. When the time came to actually move, it seemed like there was still too much – Maya had bought so much, after all – and Marshall started to regret the decision. But he kept telling himself that it was the right choice and would make life easier, even if, he thought, he wouldn’t get as much space to himself as he would like.

Lyla had rented a moving van that they’d drive themselves to cut costs. Marshall, having no valid license, would do most of the heavy lifting and directing of Lyla as she manoeuvred the giant truck from the apartment to the house. He had dropped off the boys first thing in the morning to be watched by Alessia, who would be making double what she usually made for nannying on a weekend and being stuck alone with five little monsters. Marshall and Lyla picked up the truck and then got to work packing everything in the truck and doing a final clean up to ensure the deposit would be given back.

“I forgot how it looked without all the furniture,” Marshall commented as Lyla did a final sweep. “Nothin’s in the cupboards?” For the millionth time, he checked the kitchen cupboards and drawers, the fridge and stove, the storage closets, and the cupboards in the bathroom to check that everything had been taken.

“We got everything,” Lyla assured him, emptying the contents of the dustpan into the last garbage bag.

“I’ll take that down to the bins,” he offered, tying the garbage bag up. “I’ll meet you in the truck.” Once Lyla left, Marshall contemplated the space. He remembered how Maya had convinced him, almost begging, to rent the place; he remembered how empty it had looked with the little bit of furniture he had owned and how Maya found her own way to fund the purchase of new, nicer items. He could recall where Mateo took his first steps and where Maya used to sort through the laundry. There were a lot of good memories, but they were slightly soured by the memory of Maya’s near-death when she began to bleed as she went into labour, and the memory of her long-dead body on the bathroom floor. It had once been a warm and homey place but had become cold. It was financially smart to move out but also mentally.

As the landlord had instructed him, he locked the door and slid the key under it before going down to meet Lyla and drive to his new, and hopefully very temporary, place.

 


	46. July 2013

_July 2013_

_“Happy fifth anniversary, you wonderful, beautiful, unbelievably sexy man. In a thousand lifetimes with a million choices, you’d always be my number one,”_ Lyla’s message read. _“I know you have a show tonight, but I made you something. Open it when you’re done your performance and make sure no one’s around when you do. Especially our son. With every piece of my body and soul, your wife.”_

Louis grinned to himself as he eyed the attachment, a video. He had read the email earlier in the day after talking to Lyla for a full hour as he sat on his and August’s hotel room balcony. They were parked in some mid-Western state that Louis had promptly forgotten the name of. Every state blended together after a while.

Every show had been a hit, and August was filling in for his uncle very well. He knew all the songs by heart and anything he forgot, he was able to improvise seamlessly by listening to the rest of the band. The kid was having the time of his life. But now he was passed out asleep on the soft hotel bed, a drastic change to the rented tour bus they were being carted around in. Every few states, they got a break, if they had more than one show nearby, and could stay in a hotel.

Louis took his laptop with him back onto the balcony so that he could avoid waking August and could avoid any awkward situations where his son saw his wife in any compromising positions. He plugged his headphones in and sat on the provided chair before pressing play.

The video started with their bedroom chair, empty. In the background, Lyla was speaking: “I’ve been missing you,” she said. “A lot. Since I can’t be there to drive you crazy, I thought I’d do it from here. I hope you appreciate what I’m about to do.” She said the last bit with a hint of apprehension, so Louis knew it would be good.

He watched intently until the video ended, and then sat still for a moment, replaying the racy images in his mind, before writing her back: “you’re so fucking hot. I love you. You do drive me crazy. I wish I was there right now.” He couldn’t help but outline a few things he’d like to do to her if he were home before he sent his reply off. And he had no choice but to hop in the shower and cool down before he had any chance of sleeping.

* * *

  
The apocalypse had come. Or at least, that’s what it seemed judging by the chaos in the Connelly household. Mateo and Benjamin were having some petty argument over toy usage while Lucas and Tomas were waiting to be fed and Molly, evidently feeling left out, was crying for the sake of crying. It was a moment in which Marshall had regretted moving in with Louis and Lyla. On his own, Mateo was lovely; with Ben, he was more likely to have moments of terror.

Alessia, who was hired on to care for Ben and Molly originally, had been nannying for most of the day but had to leave for an appointment. Marshall figured it would be fine: all of the kids were down for a nap, and when Mateo and Ben woke up, he assumed they’d play nicely together. He was wrong and was now being pulled into far too many directions.

He left Tomas and Lucas to cry on the floor and Molly to cry in the playpen as he went to deal with the older kids first, his patience wearing very thin.

“Right,” he said, “play time’s over, put the truck in the bin.” Both four-year-olds scream-cried in protest, and Marshall gave Mateo his most menacing look. “Matty, put it away. Play time is done.”

Mateo shouted, “no!” and threw the truck at his father. It bounced off his shin and onto the floor, a wheel falling off in the process.

Ben began sobbing like his favourite pet just died before anger overcame him and he pushed Mateo backwards. Suddenly, the cousins were in a pushing and slapping match.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Marshall whispered under his breath. He scooped one child in each arm and struggled with them up the stairs. They squirmed and kicked and screamed the whole way up. He set Ben down in his and Mateo’s bedroom and said, “you’re in timeout, Ben, until you stop havin’ a fit,” then closed the door and, setting Mateo down in Molly’s room, repeated the same thing to his own son. Both boys opened the door several times until Marshall shouted at the top of his lungs, striking the fear of God into the cousins. As they wailed miserably in their separate rooms, he said, “you don’t come out until I come and get you,” and made his way quickly to put out the fire that was Lucas and Tomas.

In the kitchen, he got their respective bowls of food ready and placed them on the dining room table before bringing the boys to their high chairs so that he could feed them simultaneously. They continued crying and fussing as Marshall strapped them in but stopped almost immediately once they saw the bowls of food. He fed them each one spoonful after the other while Molly cried in the background. But soon she noticed that she was now the only one crying and settled down; Marshall could hear her babbling as she played quietly.

He couldn’t hear Mateo or Ben crying anymore either, and he took a deep breath in, cherishing the silence. When the twins finished their meals, Marshall cleaned them up before bringing them back to their blankets in the living room on which they could play. He checked the surroundings, making sure there was nothing harmful they could get their hands on with their limited area of movement, and trudged back up the stairs and in to see Ben.

He was lying on his bed and looking at a book, telling the story to himself from memory. Marshall got his attention as soon as he entered the room; he sat on the floor next to Ben’s bed. “Why were you put in timeout, Benny?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his focus still on his book.

“Put the book down, Ben. Why are you in timeout?”

It took a little coercing, but Ben eventually managed to discuss the situation and agree to apologize to Mateo later. Marshall sent him downstairs to start cleaning up the toys and “look after the babies.” He then went next door to do the same with Mateo. But when he opened the door, the floor and Mateo were covered in baby powder. Marshall sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face. He should’ve known better. The kid liked to figure out things. When Mateo saw his dad, he immediately started crying.

“Why’re you touchin’ things you’re not supposed to, Matty?”

He wailed out some explanation that Marshall didn’t catch.

“C’mon, we gotta get you in the bath.”

Mateo vehemently shook his head and sat down in the white powder, sobbing.

“Matty, you’re covered in baby powder. We need to clean you up.”

The kid was not in the mood for logic. He spoke while he cried, but Marshall couldn’t understand a word. “Matty, I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to say. Stop cryin’.”

“Marshall?”

He sighed with relief, hearing Lyla’s voice. “Hey,” he called down before turning his attention back to his son, “let’s go. In the tub.”

Mateo stomped his feet and melted down in to the floor, creating a dust cloud of baby powder as he did so.

Marshall decided to leave Mateo on the floor and go start the bath; he’d still be throwing a tantrum whether his father was there or not.

“What’s going on?” Lyla asked as she reached the top of the stairs.

Marshall motioned to Molly’s bedroom before disappearing into the main bathroom.

Lyla went to her daughter’s room. Her eyes opened wide, “oh my goodness!”

When Mateo saw his auntie, he seemed to cry even harder.

She kneeled down in the powder, “Mateo, come here.”

He sniffled and continued to cry, tears and snot and baby powder staining his face, but did what his auntie asked and walked over to her. She pulled him in close to her and wrapped her arms around him so that he was crying into her shoulder while she slowly rubbed his back.

By the time Marshall returned, Mateo had started to calm down. Lyla waved him away before he could get Mateo going again and whispered, “I’ll take care of it. Can you check on the mob downstairs?”

Marshall was stressed enough to not care and nodded, before descending the stairs to the now calm living room.

Lyla pulled Mateo back so that she could take a look at him. He looked more like an alien than a human with the combination of liquid on his face, and she had to keep herself from giving into the urge to laugh. “Mateo, come with auntie to the bathroom. We need to blow your nose and clean you up.”

He started to protest, but she didn’t give him a chance. She took him by the hand and led him to the bathroom where she sat him on the closed toilet. With a combination of toilet paper and baby wipes, she managed to clean up his face without much incident. “That’s better,” she smiled. “Now tell me why you’re crying so much.” She could see him starting to get worked up again as he started to explain, so she interrupted him. “I need you to take a deep breath.” She breathed with him until he was calm again. “Can we get you in the bath to clean you up?”

He nodded solemnly. While she gave him his bath, she managed to get him to explain exactly what happened as best as he could recall from time out to his curiosity to his father trying to get him into the bath and him simply not wanting a bath.

She took him into his room once the bath was done, got him dressed, and sent him downstairs to apologize to his father for the chaos and Ben for the earlier argument before getting to work on cleaning up the crime scene.

Marshall had the living room TV on, which Ben was watching peacefully. He was sitting with Tomas and Lucas on the floor, half-heartedly playing with a stuffed lion as he stared into space, desperately needing a mental break. He heard Mateo’s soft steps at the bottom of the stairs. He looked sheepish and a little hesitant about rejoining the rest of the Connellys.

“Hey, man,” Marshall offered, holding open one arm.

Mateo walked haltingly towards his father before being pulled into a hug.

“What was all the fuss about?”

“Sorry, da. I didn’t want to be in trouble again.”

“Why were you touchin’ Molly’s stuff?”

Mateo shrugged, “it smelled nice and then it fell out and I like it. It’s like snowing.”

His father grunted, “yeah, I guess it would look like snowin’. But you need to make sure you ask first, yeah?” Mateo nodded. “And da’ll make sure he thinks about what you might get into next time. Did auntie talk to you about why you were in timeout?” Mateo nodded again. “Right, so you know what you need to do?”

Mateo left his father to join his cousin on the couch; the two apologized to each other and continued watching TV.

Lyla came down the stairs a short moment later, her black pants white with baby powder and her shirt stained with tears and snot with yet more baby powder.

“Hey,” Marshall said, getting quickly to his feet, “thanks for takin’ over.”

“You shouldn’t be so quick to anger with Mateo,” she scolded in a whisper, “he’s sensitive. And even more now. You have to be more patient.”

“I was patient. If you saw how them five were screamin’, you’d be praisin’ me. Matty and Ben were in time out, I fed the boys, then went to get them. Ben was fine. I opened the door to Mol’s room and saw the powder everywhere and didn’t say a word. Kid just started cryin’.”

“Because he knows he did wrong and thought you’d be mad and is scared of you when you’re mad,” Lyla snapped. Her day was stressful; coming home to chaos wasn’t what she would’ve preferred. “How does it feel knowing your kid is scared of you?”

“Fuck you,” Marshall responded, feeling genuinely offended. “You can fuckin’ watch my kids then since you’re so fuckin’ perfect.” He stormed off to brood in his room as Lyla called after him.

When he didn’t respond she avoided the urge to swear. “Matty, Ben: I need you to be big boys and watch the babies while I vacuum Molly’s room, okay? Come get me if they start crying, okay?”

“Okay, mommy!” Ben called, not taking his attention off of the television.

She got the vacuum cleaner from the basement storage area and got to work vacuuming before changing her clothes. It was still a few weeks until Louis and August returned from the tour, but she couldn’t wait. It wasn’t just because she missed them both, which she did, but it would be nice to have a buffer between her and Marshall. There were more days she regretted inviting them to stay than there were days she was secure in her choice. And it would be nice to have more hands helping out with the mob of children under five.

Downstairs, she checked on the brood, who were doing just fine, and then began dinner.

* * *

  
Lyla was unloading the dishwasher Sunday morning as Marshall played with Ben, Mateo, and Molly in the backyard while Tomas and Lucas played on the living room floor. But when she heard the front door open and a familiar voice say, “we’re home,” Lyla almost dropped a couple of plates to the floor and squealed.

She ran to the foyer, ready to embrace her husband and son in a long-awaited hug but was stopped dead in her tracks at the haggard sight of her husband. “My love, what’s wrong?” Lyla pulled him into a hug before cupping his face in her hands and noting the warmth of his skin. He had dark bags under his eyes amplified by his already fair skin somehow made paler. “Are you okay?”

Louis shook his head, “I’m fine. Just need to lie down. Tired.”

“He’s been coughing pretty bad too,” August cut in, receiving a short look from his father. But August continued on. “He’s been like this for the last few days and won’t go to the doctor.”

Lyla hugged her son briefly and kissed his forehead, “I’m glad you’re both home. Louis, we’re going to the doctor’s.”

“I just need sleep,” Louis argued. “Goin’ to the doctor won’t change that.”

“I’m not asking you, love,” Lyla decided. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll tell Marshall you’re back and then we’ll head out. August, can you help your uncle keep an eye on the little ones?” The teenager agreed as Lyla went to inform Marshall and the kids that Louis was home.

Ben was ecstatic, racing into the house to see his father, and Molly did the same, inspired by her brother’s enthusiasm. Mateo followed shortly after, a little less enthused, but still eager to see his uncle.

“I’m going to take him to the doctor’s,” Lyla explained to Marshall. “He doesn’t look good at all.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I figure the doctor will tell me that,” she replied, a little too sarcastic.

Marshall didn’t care to respond; he and Lyla had been seeing too much of each other and getting on one another’s nerves. When he saw his brother, he knew why Lyla was desperate to get him to a doctor. He looked like something from a zombie film with the rattling breaths and clammy skin to match.

Lyla called a taxi and it arrived a short time later. With her purse in hand, she dragged Louis out in search of an answer for her husband’s state.

* * *

  
“I just want to fuckin’ sleep,” Louis muttered miserably as he and Lyla waited to be called in to see the doctor.

Lyla pushed his hair back, “I know, but you’ll need more than sleep. If I looked the way you look right now, you’d be just as scared as I am.”

He sighed, “sorry.” She was right. He didn’t think he was ill enough to need a doctor, but if the roles were reversed, he’d insist as well. Only… the roles never would be reversed because Lyla took better care of herself and went to the doctor at the first sign of serious illness. He took Lyla’s hand in his, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” She leaned her head on his shoulder as a sort of one-sided hug before sitting upright again. “How was the tour?”

“It was alright. Fun to perform and everythin’, but not the same without Marshall. Is he doin’ better since movin’ in?”

“He hasn’t had time to wallow with all the little ones while I’m at work, so I think that’s helped.”

“How d’you like workin’ in the summer?”

She smiled, “I love it. The campus isn’t nearly as crowded, and the kids taking the extra courses are so much more eager than the regular kids. And it just feels like there’s less pressure. Plus, I’m not stuck at home all day every day.”

He nodded and swallowed, disgusted by the scratchy feeling in his throat, “and how’s Molly been doin’?”

“Her temper has been coming through a little bit and she’s stubborn. I can’t even imagine how much trouble she’s going to be.”

“Not like Ben?”

Lyla laughed, “not at all. Ben is an angel compared to her. She gets into everything and screams at you if you tell her no. She’s been in more timeouts than Mateo and Ben combined at this point, I’m sure. When you’re better, I’ll pass her onto you.”

Louis smiled, “th—” but then coughed, unable to laugh properly.

“Louis Connelly,” a nurse’s voice came.

Lyla stood immediately and pulled Louis up by his arm, leading him as he struggled to cease his coughing fit.

In the examination room, the doctor examined his chest and came to the conclusion that he had pneumonia, which was later confirmed by tests. He would have to get a prescription filled, so as soon as they dropped off the prescription and picked up some cough and cold meds, they went back home. Lyla would pick up the filled prescription in a couple of hours.

When they got home, it was utter chaos. Lyla had become used to the sound of screams and cries whenever she returned home from work and Alessia was already gone, but Louis was new to the complete and utter lack of a quiet home.

Marshall was shouting at Mateo and Ben over the noise of the crying twins who were overtired and who he was trying to wrangle simultaneously so that he could place them in their cribs. Mateo and Ben were jumping on the sofa, being little hellions in general, while August and Molly were nowhere to be seen.

“Time out!” Louis called, coughing as he approached his nephew and son.

“Louis,” Lyla interrupted, “go upstairs.” She didn’t want the boys to get sick if it could be helped. “I’ll handle the boys.”

He didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, he dragged himself up the stairs while Lyla went to handle the boys.

“Mateo, Ben, down,” she demanded sternly. They managed to look ashamed as they followed the instructions. “Come with me.” She walked to the dining room without looking back; she knew they’d be following. She sat on a dining room chair and waited for them. When they entered the room, she pointed to a corner, “Ben, go stand in that corner,” and then she pointed to the opposite corner, “Mateo, go stand in that corner.”

“No,” Ben began to cry, frustrated, while Mateo did what he was told.

“Pardon me?” Lyla said, her tone of voice indicating she was not ready to hear any complaints.

“Timeout is upstairs,” Ben protested, his face red.

“Right now,” Lyla replied calmly, “timeout is right here. In that corner.”

“I don’t like it here!”

“You’re not supposed to like timeout. Look at how nice Mateo is standing. He’s going to be out of timeout very soon, Benjamin. I need you to think about how you’re acting and how long you’re going to be in timeout if you continue.”

“But—”

“Corner,” Lyla repeated. “Now.”

He begrudgingly did what he was supposed to, stomping his feet and grunting angrily as he did so. Lyla had to keep from smiling at his over-dramatic full-body response to his punishment. After a few moments, she took Mateo into the living room and made sure he knew why he was in timeout, which he did. He was then sent to play with August and Molly who, it turned out, were in the backyard.

She waited a little longer until she did the same with Ben, hugging him and comforting him as well, before sending him outside too. She hoped August could handle it because now she had her husband to take care of.

In the bedroom, she didn’t see Louis but saw the bathroom door was closed. “Louis?” she asked, knocking softly on the door.

“Yeah, come in,” came the reply.

The bathroom was a factory of humidity. Louis had run a bath for himself to help with his congestion and was soaking peacefully in the deep tub.

“Is that how it usually is?” he asked, referring to the commotion when they had returned from the doctor’s.

Lyla nodded, “when Marshall’s alone with them, yeah. He doesn’t have any patience for them. But I understand. I’m not usually home alone with all five of them at once. I can’t imagine be patient when they’re all crying at the same time. He has a short temper though.”

“Still think it was a good idea havin’ them move in?”

Lyla nodded as she sat on the closed toilet, “definitely. It’s better for Mateo and the twins… and Marshall if he’s shouting instead of being apathetic. And at least the kids have each other too.”

“Hmm,” Louis said, the hot water making him feel about a million times better. “You think you have the time to join me? It’s nice. Add some of those oils if you like.”

“I think you just want to exploit my expertise in making the perfect bath,” she joked, getting a peppermint bath bomb from her stash.

Louis shrugged and watched as the bath water began to change into a deep blue. “Where’d you get that from?”

“They were Maya’s,” she explained, feeling a little hesitant to bring her up, “Marshall found them in her stuff and gave them to me. She had so many.”

“It smells good. Definitely clearin’ up the congestion anyway.”

Lyla undressed and stepped into the bath, holding Louis’ outstretched hand as she did so. He placed his hands on her waist as she sat and slid close to him then wrapped her in a strong hug. They sat in silence for the next few minutes, Lyla rest her head back and Louis resting his head forward. They had fallen asleep, Louis from pure exhaustion and Lyla from pure comfort, when Marshall was at the door, banging and hollering.

“Stop fuckin’ and come take care of your children. Some of us’ve shit to do.”

Lyla rolled her eyes and muttered a series of insults under her breath, causing Louis to laugh and then cough. She kissed his forehead before stepping out of the bath tub, wrapping the large towel around her, and flinging the door open, “God forbid we have a moment alone after months apart. And watch your mouth.”

“You know that I wanted to get outta here for the afternoon, then you’re off with Lou—” he complained.

“Yes,” she hissed irritably. “If you’d leave, I could get dressed.”

“Well, hurry the fuck up.”

“Hey,” Louis interjected as he exited the bathroom, “you wanna stop swearin’ at my wife?”

Marshall waved him off before leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.

Lyla shook her head, “your brother is an ass.”

Louis chuckled, “yeah, well.” He discarded his towel on the armchair and climbed under the covers of the bed, “how long have you guys been arguin’ like that?”

Lyla dressed as she spoke. “Maybe a month after he moved in. He’s moody in general. But I think having you and August back will help. We’ve been seeing too much of each other.”

Louis nodded with closed eyes, cuddled into his blankets, “it’s good he’s gettin’ out.”

Lyla kissed his cheek as he started to drift back to sleep, “let me know if you need anything, love.” At the bottom of the stairs, Marshall was waiting impatiently. “They can be alone for two minutes,” Lyla said. “Isn’t August with them anyway? What’s your issue?”

Marshall grunted something inaudible and then left the house in a huff.

Lyla bid him good riddance then made her way to the backyard where August was being attacked by his younger siblings and cousin. “Mateo, Ben, Molly,” she called, “let August have a rest.” August managed to fight his way up from the ground and made his way thankfully towards his mother. She hugged him, “go and take a bit of a break. The twins are down for a nap. I’m going to put Molly down too and take the boys to the park. Can you keep an ear out? Dad’s resting.”

August nodded, “yeah. I think I’m just going to watch TV. Too tired to do anything else.”

She smiled, “sounds good. Relax. You’ve had a busy couple of months and school is coming back fast. Mateo, Ben, go play in the living room for a little bit.” She picked Molly up, “let’s go have a rest, sweetheart.” It was very important, when handling the short-tempered toddler, to make it seem like she wasn’t the only one who had to do any given thing. So, when they entered Molly’s room, Lyla placed the babbling toddler in her crib, drew the curtains, and sat down in the rocking chair, closing her eyes to fake sleep (and willing herself to remain awake).

“Night-night mama,” Molly yawned, settling in to sleep herself.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Lyla sighed in her best sleepy voice. Within roughly ten minutes, Lyla could hear the slow, even breaths of her daughter. She peaked into the crib to make sure Molly was in fact asleep and then crept out of the room, closing the door securely behind her. Downstairs, she threw a couple of snacks and drinks into a backpack and then led Ben and Mateo out of the house and a couple of blocks over to the playground where they were allowed to run wild while she watched from the bench.

The two ran straight to the climbing structure and began racing to the top, fearless and competitive. They would race from one point to the next, play tag, invent some imaginative game, and start all over again. By the time it would be time to go, they’d be exhausted and ready for their own naps.

It struck Lyla as strange that despite Louis and August now being home, everything felt the same. It all seemed a lot more dramatic when it came to the Europe/Asia trip. Maybe it was because it wasn’t for as long or because it was still on the same continent. Or maybe it was because she was too stressed and busy with work and rehearsals and the kids and Marshall and everything else to really have time to wallow. But she had been hoping for some sort of exciting reunion with her husband. She was happy to see him, despite his sick state, and happy to spend time with him, and she had missed him, but she thought there would be something more. She made a note to suggest they get back into date nights again as soon as he was well.

Roughly an hour passed before Lyla gave a ten-minute warning and the three of them journeyed back to the house. She had the boys wash their hands and then led them to their beds, put on some soft music, and sat silently between their two beds. Unlike Molly, they didn’t need to be tricked into falling asleep, but they did need to be policed so that they weren’t fooling around instead of sleeping. When she was sure both of them were sleeping, she left silently.

August was passed out on the couch in the living room as the TV played. Lyla covered him with a throw blanket as she made her way to the basement to check in on the twins. She had become used to the schedule: the twins would wake up and she would change and feed them; Molly would wake up shortly after and the process would be repeated with her; finally, Mateo and Ben would wake and have a small snack. It was an exhausting but foolproof system that she was glad to have more help with. Having essentially four adults to five kids was far less daunting than two adults to five kids, especially when those two adults were in constant disagreement. Marshall and Lyla had very different ideas about raising their respective children, and Marshall had been revitalised by the move – a bittersweet occurrence in Lyla’s eyes. But Mateo, Tomas, and Lucas were benefiting most and that’s all she could ask.

 


	47. September 2013 onwards

_September 2013_

At the beginning of September, August was back at Juilliard for his final year and both Ben and Mateo would be starting pre-school. Lyla didn’t have class on Thursday morning until eleven so she, Louis, and Marshall were all able to see them off while Alessia stayed with the twins and Molly.

The pre-schoolers were starting later in the morning to avoid the eight-thirty crowds and to prepare for the inevitable separation anxiety on the end of the four-year-olds.

Ben and Mateo were chatting ceaselessly on their walk to school in the morning, beyond excited about the adventure that was school. But as soon as they saw the school along with the other students and their parents, some already in tears, they became suddenly silent and took to their respective parents’ sides.

Lyla and Louis took Ben’s hands as he became more hesitant while Marshall picked up Mateo whose lip was already quivering dangerously.

They went into the school, down to the classroom where the morning pre-schoolers would be learning and sat down among the other parents and children on chairs that were set up. Many of the children had their faces buried in the chest of their caregiver or were sitting silently with eyes wide. Mateo was the former while Ben was the latter.

“Good morning, parents,” the kind-faced Miss Rosie said over the cries, clearly well-versed in first day tears, “and good morning, boys and girls. I know the first day is very hard, but we’re going to have a lot of fun this year, I promise.” She went on to explain rules, expectations and consequences before getting the parents to fill out information about guardianship, volunteering, and various other necessities.

Then it was time for the kids to play while their parents snuck away. Some kids were able to easily focus on the play, but kids like Ben and Mateo, not so much. Ben held on tightly to his mother and Mateo continued crying into his father’s chest while Louis tried to entice each of them in turn with a collection of toys he was hoarding.

“I’ve got to go,” Lyla murmured over Ben’s head as work drew closer. “Sweetheart,” she said to Ben, “mommy needs to go to work.”

Ben shook his head vigorously.

“C’mon, man,” Louis urged, pulling Ben away from his mother, “me and uncle Marshall’ll stick around.”

Ben released his hold on his mother before immediately attaching himself to his father like a magnet. Lyla kissed his cheek before doing the same to Mateo. With one last kiss to Louis, she said her goodbyes to Miss Rosie and rushed to work.

“Who do we have here?” Miss Rosie asked, kneeling next to Louis and Ben as she made her rounds to the parents with hesitant kids.

Ben was very wary and leaned back from her cautiously.

“This is Benjamin,” Louis answered.

“Hello, Benjamin, what’s your favourite animal?”

Louis whispered words of encouragement to coax Ben out of his unusual shyness until the child uttered, “octopus.”

“Wow, what a good choice!” Miss Rosie smiled. “Do you know a lot about the octopus?”

Ben nodded, inspired by a short documentary he had seen on octopuses with his father, which had lit some sense of wonder in him, “they have eight, um,” he looked at his father for the word, which was whispered into his ear. “They have eight tentacles and three hearts and are smart like people. I saw one that could open a jar!” He was sitting up now, more animated than he was a moment ago, “and they like to live alone and shoot ink out of them when something attacks them!”

“My goodness, you sure know a lot! You know… I have a book about octopuses. Would you like me to show it to you?”

He nodded excitedly and left his father in his dust. Louis looked over at Mateo who had calmed down a little, but still seemed devastated. However, he was watching his cousin with slightly piqued interest.

“Matty, uncle Lou is goin’ to take you for a sec, okay?” Marshall wanted to inform Miss Rosie about Maya but thought it best for Mateo not to overhear.

But Mateo shook his head adamantly and cried, “no!”

This caught the teacher’s attention and she was back in a moment, leaving Ben with the large book of octopus facts. Louis thought it best to stay put and watch from afar, though he was starting to feel low about leaving his son as well.

“And what’s your name?” Miss Rosie asked once she was eye-level with Mateo.

He shook his head. She was not going to be able to lure him with promises of octopus books. No way.

“This is Mateo. Matty.” Marshall replied.

“Do you speak Spanish, Mateo?” she asked.

He replied by turning his face away from her.

“He does,” Marshall answered after a moment.

Immediately, Miss Rosie began addressing Mateo in Spanish, which seemed to thankfully interest him. He answered occasionally with a “sí.” And when she held out her hand, he took it, albeit with some hesitation, and she led him to the sound station where she set him up with some headphones where he could listen to stories and music.

She returned a moment later and began to speak to Marshall in Spanish as well, but he held up his hands, “I’m Irish. The only Spanish I know is not appropriate for young ears.”

Miss Rosie laughed, “sorry. I have Mateo set up to listen to some music for right now.” She spoke to both Louis and Marshall, “I think it’s best to leave while they’re both distracted.”

Marshall nodded, “sure, but I need to speak with you about Matty first.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Louis said before one last glance at his distracted son. He exited to wait for his brother.

Miss Rosie led him to her desk where she could keep an eye on things while she listened.

“Matty’s a sensitive kid. I just want you to know that his mam passed away in January.”

“I’m so sorry,” she offered.

He shook his head, “it was pretty traumatic for him. He has this thing about bein’ left alone now. It’s better than it was, but he’ll still have moments where he might start to panic or feel anxious and’ll need a bit of a timeout to calm down. He can usually calm himself down and doesn’t really need any coddlin’. He’s in therapy weekly, but… I just wanted to let you know.”

She nodded, “thank you for telling me. Does he have nightmares or anything? Does he sleep well at night? Or should I expect days where he might not be as well-rested?”

“Nah, he doesn’t dream about it. He didn’t see her die or anythin’, but she died while she was home alone with him and his brothers. She was in the bathroom, door closed, so he just thought she was hidin’ away at the time. But he’s a smart kid and figured it out after everythin’ was done.” Marshall wondered if he was giving out too much. “Anyway, just let him soothe himself. You can tell him to remember what Carmen, his therapist, said, and he’ll remember the techniques she’s been teachin’ him. Any other problems, just call me and I’ll come down. Me and Lou – Ben’s da – aren’t workin’ durin’ the day right now, so I can come anytime needed.”

Miss Rosie nodded, “I will. Thank you for letting me know.”

Marshall nodded and checked that both Mateo and Ben were still alright before meeting his brother and walking back to the house.

An hour and a half later, the brothers made their way back to the school. In the classroom, all of the kids were sitting on the carpet while Miss Rosie read them a story. Ben was fidgeting in his spot, clearly trying his absolute best to sit still and pay attention while Mateo, who was sitting on the opposite side of the carpet from his cousin, was enthralled by the story and sat statue-still.

After the story was done, Miss Rosie instructed the students to stay seated while she released them one-by-one upon seeing the parent. She had an excellent memory.

“Benjamin, I see your dad. You can go,” she said with a smile before repeating the same with Mateo. Both cousins ran to their respective fathers, excited to have not been abandoned in the cold world of pre-school. The students had little cubby holes in the corridor, which held their tiny backpacks and any artwork they had made. Once they had all that they needed, the four of them set off back home while Ben and Mateo chattered ceaselessly again, this time about their fantastic time (except for when they got in trouble for talking to each other when they weren’t supposed to and were separated during carpet time). At home they both had lunch and passed out almost immediately when put down for their naps.

* * *

  
A month had passed without incident before Marshall received a call on behalf of his son who was having an inexplicable and long-lasting meltdown over something he wouldn’t or couldn’t articulate. It was halfway through the morning and the rest of the class was outside with another teacher while Mateo kept himself in the timeout beanbag chair, adamantly staying put and screaming and crying whenever Miss Rosie or any other teacher tried to coax him out.

“I’m sorry for calling you,” Miss Rosie said, “but we’re at a complete loss for what to do. We finished circle time, which I end with each child choosing a high five or hug. Mateo always chooses a hug. But he started crying as soon as he was in the hug – I thought I hurt him somehow, but he wouldn’t explain and went and sat in timeout. We haven’t been able to get him out, so we’re hoping having you here might help.” They stood outside of the classroom, observing Mateo from afar. His lips were downturned as he squished the stress ball above his head.

Marshall nodded and walked over to his son, sitting down next to the beanbag chair. Mateo made to protest until he realized who was sitting next to him. He immediately started crying again and flung himself into his dad’s arms.

“What’s up, Matty?” he asked after a moment.

The four-year-old sniffed, relatively calm, and then near-shouted, “I miss mama!” before devolving into tears once more.

Marshall hugged him close, “yeah, I know, man. I miss her too, but what happened to make you cry so much? Why don’t you want to go outside with the other kids?”

“I want to go outside,” Mateo countered, trying to wipe his face with his hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up then. Miss Rosie, will the kids be outside for a little while yet?”

“Ten more minutes,” she informed him from the other side of the room.

“Alright, man, let’s get you cleaned up quick. Then we’ll put your sweater on and get you outside.” Miss Rosie brought over a box of tissues, but when she set it down next to Marshall, his stomach turned, and he understood Mateo’s issue. He cleaned his son up and led him to join the rest of the group before returning to speak with Miss Rosie.

“Is everything okay now?” she asked after thanking him profusely.

“Yeah. He’s alright right now. Just misses his mam.”

“Did he say what brought on the sudden tears? It was just so unexpected.”

“No, but I think it might be your shampoo or whatever hair stuff you’re usin’. It’s the same smell as his mam used. I doubt he realized what caused the tears, but if it was when he hugged you, that’s probably it. I noticed it when you gave us the tissue.” He still missed Maya, but it was hardly an issue anymore. However, smelling that hint of coconut that she always used sent him back in time and made him feel the loss all over again.

It must have shown on his face because Miss Rosie was actively pulling her hair back into a bun with a hair tie from her wrist. “I’m so sorry! I had no idea.”

Marshall shook his head, “it’s not your fault. That’s just what it is.” He shrugged, “I’ve got to go. Matty should be fine. If anythin’ happens again, you’ll have to call Lou – Ben’s da or Ben’s mam, yeah?”

Miss Rosie nodded, looking apprehensive, and Marshall left in order to get into the city.

* * *

  
_November 2013_

The Connelly Brothers were squished into Louis and Lyla’s home office while the rest of their now expanded family congregated in the living room and basement for Thanksgiving festivities, having finished eating the main meal and resting before the plethora of desserts.

Louis and Marshall had been discussing something important for several weeks now, but they had yet to bring it up with the rest of the band. They thought it might cause some contention among the other band members, so they had admittedly put it off for as long as possible but now was the time to discuss it before things went any further.

“Right,” Marshall began, “so me and Louie’ve been talkin’ about the future a lot – the future of the band and our own futures. When you guys went on the tour in the summer, I thought I’d miss it a lot more than I did – playin’ in the band, I mean, but… I didn’t.”

“Well, it wasn’t the same without you,” said Brian.

“I missed hangin’ out with you guys, but not the actual playin’ and tourin’. And with the boys… I can’t see me goin’ away for any lengthy amounts of time.”

“You sayin’ you’re done with the band?” Nick asked, not seeming to take offence.

“I’m sayin’ I want it to wind down. Lou does too, but he wouldn’t say nothin’ ‘cause of last time.”

Louis nodded awkwardly. Was he really getting his big brother to speak for him?

Marshall continued. “We’re figurin’ that we could maybe scale back a bit. Focus on New York from now on. Go back to Friday shows. Or Saturdays, whatever. I need to be workin’ a real job like before; quittin’ the warehouse was a mistake. Playin’ music all over the world isn’t lucrative enough. You get me?”

Nick nodded, “I’m with you.”

“Really?” Louis asked. He didn’t think anyone else in the band would feel the same way.

Nick nodded again, “yeah. Me and Emily’ve been strugglin’ a bit with money. We can’t afford a house on a single income, and we want to go travellin’ and stuff. Tourin’ and losin’ money gets in the way of that. I mean, the band does okay, but not as good as a full-time job would. I want to go back to drivin’.”

“What d’you guys think about it all?” Marshall asked, looking between Brian and Steve.

Steve shrugged, “I mean, I’d be alright with the playin’ once a week. Ang and Luce could use a bigger space. If I’m workin’ more, that’s goin’ to be easier. I’m forty-one; I should probably get my shit together.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “It’s fine. I don’t think I could do another tour. Plus, Freddie’s been my fiancée for almost a year. Should probably make an honest woman of her. Money’d be good.”

“I’d say that maybe we advertise to say that we’re goin’ to do one final set of shows in New York – rake in a little extra cash – and then go off, only playin’ publicly when we have the urge,” suggested Nick. “We’ll still make sure to drive your wife up a wall and play here when we want though, Lou.”

Louis grinned, “I’m okay with that.”

“Right, well then, I’ll call Aaron, let him know about our plans. See what he has to say about it all.”

* * *

  
_January 2014_

It had been a year since Maya had died. It didn’t feel that long, but it was, and a lot had changed. Mateo was in school, the twins had started walking early and were doing very well for themselves, and Marshall was looking to his future career. Despite the changes that had occurred and the upcoming changes, Marshall wanted to make sure that the boys knew their mother and celebrated her.

As such, he and the boys found themselves at Maya’s gravesite on the anniversary of her death. The twins didn’t quite grasp the sobriety of the situation but sat in their stroller quietly, playing with toys that Marshall had made sure to bring for them. Mateo, on the other hand, knew exactly how sombre the occasion was and held on tightly to the flowers he had picked out for her at the florist’s.

“Where is mama now?” Mateo asked, eyes fixed on the tombstone.

“I don’t know, man. Somewhere peaceful, I think,” Marshall replied, unsure of anything else to say.

“Is she maybe happy?”

“Yeah, I think she is, Matty.”

“Even though she’s not with us anymore?”

Marshall sighed, “I think she’s sad she had to leave us, but happy because she gets to see us growin’ up and bein’ happy, yeah?”

Mateo nodded.

“Why don’t you tell her about school and the twins and everythin’? I bet she’d love to hear all about it.”

Mateo seemed a little hesitant but then walked up to the headstone and sat in the damp snow to speak to his mother. He seemed to talk endlessly about everything, filling her in on the past year. Eventually, he started to end his monologue. “I miss you lots, mama. I wish you were here with me and Luke and Tom ‘cause they’re just babies and don’t remember yet. I got you yellow flowers and I’m going to put them right here, okay?” He placed the flowers in the snow at the base of the headstone. “I picked them out because they’re yellow and I remember you like yellow. I miss you mama.” He kissed the cold stone and hugged it as best he could before returning to his father and brothers.

Marshall patted Mateo gently on the head as he took hold of the stroller. He stepped forward and placed a plastic-encased photo of he and the boys behind the flowers. “My, this is the four of us. We’re doin’ okay. I’ll make sure they keep rememberin’ you. I love you.”

The four of them took one last look at the headstone and made their way back home.

“How’d it go?” Louis asked once Mateo, Lucas and Tomas joined Ben and Molly to play in the living room while Louis worked in his office.

Marshall sat on Lyla’s office chair and leaned his head back, “fine. What’re you doin’?”

“Job searchin’. Tryin’ to get in somewhere that isn’t back at the bottom. Management maybe. Just somethin’ that’s not on level with a buncha interns.”

“Still in the same field? Business shit?”

“Yeah, ‘business shit’. You start lookin’ for anythin’ yet?”

“Yeah, well… I’ve been goin’ to school.”

“What? Since when?” Marshall was never the school type so the news threw Louis off.

“Since summer. Learnin’ about runnin’ a business and handlin’ finances and shit.”

“Really?” Louis seemed more excited than Marshall would have ever expected him to be.

“Uh, yeah. I’m thinkin’ I’m goin’ to go into managin’ musicians. I want to eventually get my own firm runnin’ but I’ll be done in April and’ll start applyin’ to other firms for the time bein’.”

“Just locally? Not as a road manager or anythin’?”

“Nah, just want to stay in New York, but I think I’ll be better at that than anythin’ else.”

Louis nodded, “you’re a great manager for The Connelly Brothers already. See if Aaron’ll vouch for you.”

Marshall scoffed, “the guy hates me.”

“Nah, he doesn’t hate you. You irritate him because you do what is best for the band while he tries to do what is best for the label. You ask him if you’re a good manager and he’d say yes because you irritate him so much.”

Marshall shrugged but said nothing else. It wouldn’t hurt to see what he could get out of their old record label. When they had told Aaron that they were planning on quitting, he was a lot less bothered than they thought he would be. It turned out that he could sense the shift in their enthusiasm for playing professionally; he had started making plans for their inevitable departure already, much to the band’s surprise.

Marshall would scope out up and coming bands as he worked towards his diploma. He already knew what he was doing on the management side of things, but it was the business side of things he wanted to make sure he had a handle on. He had never been in so much debt in his life, but he kept telling himself that it was worth it. He was good at warehouse work and bartending, but the hours weren’t ideal for a single father and he didn’t enjoy those things all that much. With music management, he’d be able to have regular hours – more or less – and would enjoy the work. And he thought he’d at least look more successful in the eyes of his sons.

* * *

  
Over the next several months, there were some changes.

August graduated from Juilliard with distinction and was invited to London by a former friend of Thomas Novacek who was the conductor for the London Symphony Orchestra. They would work together to put on a concert featuring young talent, including several pieces from August himself. It would not only give him some exposure on the world stage but also firsthand experience putting together a full-scale show outside of an academic setting. He’d be introduced to several big names and that would hopefully help him develop as the musician and composer he wanted to be.

Of course, August leaving meant that Lyla was a bit of a wreck, at least when she was alone with her husband. They had only had about seven years with their son before he had become an adult and was off to become whoever he was meant to be. He was homesick and wished that he was back home often, but he was also eager to find his place in the music world and soak up all the knowledge that he could.

Lyla was worried sick and made sure to talk to him at least once a week (Louis kept her from calling daily). Eventually, it got easier; he was smart and had a good group of people looking out for him, some who had known Lyla when she was younger. And he was having fun.

Louis had managed to find a new job as a project manager in financial services and was enjoying his time there despite being stuck in an office all day. The Connelly Brothers got together occasionally for small gigs at small venues but were more often found in the basement of Louis and Lyla’s home or in Nick and Emily’s living room jamming together for fun, alleviating the stress of social media presence, sales and a fanbase. They all more or less had jobs that paid a lot more securely than trying to be musicians had.

Marshall had started working at the warehouse again, on call for those who were calling in sick, which happened fairly frequently. He refused to go full time again; his only goal had been getting into music management.

When he finished his courses at the college, he approached Aaron York, who had welcomed him in a baffling change of heart. Louis had been right that Aaron didn’t hate Marshall, but that Marshall had just been a thorn in Aaron’s side. Their former producer hired Marshall to manage some smaller performers while he got to know the business from the other side. He would manage bigger performers and begin scouting as he became more skilled and comfortable.

Mateo and Ben got placed into different classes as they entered kindergarten, Mateo attending in the mornings and Ben attending in the afternoons. It was an arrangement agreed upon by the teachers and the parents, the boys playing off of each other and causing mayhem whenever they got the chance otherwise.

Lyla continued working at Juilliard full time and playing with the Philharmonic, eventually becoming Principal cellist for the orchestra. She was exactly where she wanted to be. She had a husband who loved her and whom she loved with all of her heart; she had the family she wanted: children, nephews, a brother-in-law, and an extended family of friends, and she knew that the future, though likely filled with challenges and possible setbacks, would be the life she had always envisioned for herself.


	48. 2024

_February 2024_

“Hey mama,” Mateo murmured. He wondered if he would ever have called her something else if she hadn’t died. But then his Uncle Ed still called his own mother ‘mama’. “Wherever you are, I hope you’re still looking out for us. I have a girlfriend… sort of. I guess. Her name’s Jaskiran but everyone calls her J. Da tells me to drop her, but I don’t think he means it. And if he does, he can shove it.”

“I can hear you, man,” Marshall interrupted with a grin, Lucas and Tomas hiding their own smiles.

“I know,” he returned. “Mama, we love you and we miss you.” Mateo placed his traditional flowers in front of her stone before standing to rejoin his father and brothers.

“Give me a moment with your mam,” Marshall said after some silence. The boys began walking towards the end of the cemetery while Marshall stared down at the polished stone. The four of them had been going to Maya’s gravesite every year on her birthday since her death. He and Mateo got the most out of it while Lucas and Tomas showed compassion and understanding but didn’t have the same connection.

Maya was still the only woman Marshall had ever loved. He had never let another woman in as much as he had let Maya in, so there wasn’t really any chance for anything developing. He didn’t need the headache. He preferred to focus on his career and his boys, fulfilling his more basic human impulses when the boys were away with their grandparents one weekend per month.

“My,” he said, placing a new set of pictures to the increasing pile. “This year’s school pictures. They’re doin’ great. Matty’s somehow on the honour roll. Sure you and Louie didn’t have an affair to create this kid? He’s not takin’ after either of us. Luke and Tom’re doin’ good. We didn’t screw them up. Yet, I guess. There’s a note there for you.” He sighed, “you’re dead though, so I guess you won’t be able to read it. Or hear any of this. I still love you though. Probably ‘cause you’re not here to get on my nerves. We miss you. I miss you. I’ll see you later. Love you.” He took one last look at the stone and the pile of fading pictures before turning to follow his sons.

They arrived back in Brooklyn to their small rental house after lunch. Lucas and Tomas kicked off their shoes and threw their jackets onto the floor before collapsing onto the couch and turning on their game system.

“Oi!” Marshall exclaimed, “if you don’t want me throwin’ your games in the trash, you’re goin’ to come and put your shit away properly.”

The twins rolled their eyes before doing what they were told while Mateo sat at the kitchen table.

Once Marshall was satisfied with the twins’ clean-up job, he joined his eldest. “How’s it goin’, man?”

Mateo raised and lowered one shoulder, “alright.” He thought for a moment, “are there any other stories?”

Marshall shook his head, “I don’t know. I think I’ve told them all. You ever ask your grandparents?”

“Abuela doesn’t like to talk about her.”

“Ah, well.” Marshall ran his hand over her face, “what do you remember about her?”

He and Mateo would spend Maya’s birthday telling and retelling stories about Maya until they were laughing and could move beyond the sombre feeling that the day always brought. With time, the feeling didn’t last as long; they were now better able to remember her with happiness rather than sadness.

Mateo joined his brothers in the living room while Marshall snuck off to the basement where his mini home office was set up. The house was small, so it wasn’t too expensive, which allowed Marshall to remain financially stable. It was a two-bedroom house; Lucas and Tomas shared the master bedroom, Mateo got the second bedroom, and Marshall was back to sleeping on a foldout couch in the living room. The basement wasn’t finished; its exposed concrete walls and foundation meant that it was cold, and the spiderwebs, storage and laundry area didn’t make it any warmer. But he only needed a good internet connection to work from home, so the working space didn’t matter all that much.

If he did need more room, he could go down to his office at Connelly Management, which was working in conjunction with Revolutions Inc. and doing quite well. It had only been open for two years, but they were lucrative years. He still had some debts that he was working through but would certainly be through it in the next couple of years. Then it would just be paying his brother back for the loan he borrowed in order to open his own business.

So it went: Saturdays, the boys would be in the living room or their bedroom or out with their friends during the day, and then the four of them would usually congregate for a movie or go over to Lyla and Louis’ for some event in the evening.

Marshall found it strange how easy it had been to get the boys successfully out of infancy to moderately grown and successful humans. Sure, there had been some setbacks and struggles, but overall, it wasn’t as detrimental to his state of mind as he thought it would be. They were all excellent kids.

* * *

  
_July 2024_

Sixteen years. That’s how long they had been married. Sixteen years. And it had flown by. Not to mention their eldest son who would be twenty-nine this year. It couldn’t have really been that long, could it?

Lyla had recently celebrated her forty-eighth birthday and Louis would soon be celebrating his fifty-first. They were officially middle-aged. And despite the occasionally aching backs or knees or unexpected areas of their bodies, they still felt like they had in their thirties: completely in love.

However, a decade and a half of marriage had brought them more comfort with one another. The love had always been there, but there was something to be said about feeling comfortable. They could, and often did, sit in silence with each other all day every day and find enjoyment, so long as they were with each other. They could openly discuss stresses and worries and irritation and know that regardless of what was said, the other person loved them unconditionally.

For their sixteenth anniversary, they decided that they would go somewhere with a beach and warmth for the week. They decided on Hawaii. The two of them had travelled there a few years prior with their youngest children and Louis’ brother and nephews in tow and had fallen in love with it in spite of the noise and chaos of five children. This time, it would just be them and silence for a whole week.

“Have we got everything?” Lyla asked for the third time, glancing around her before staring at the ceiling and wordlessly counting off on her fingers, triple checking that nothing vital was left behind.

It was early in the morning and the two of them had packed the night before to ensure that they wouldn’t forget anything, but the early morning also meant that they might not be thinking completely clearly.

“Yes,” Louis responded, adamant. “We checked everythin’ yesterday. The cab’ll be here in a few so let’s say goodbye to Mol and Ben and get goin’.”

Lyla nodded, glancing around their neat room one more time before grabbing her suitcase and large purse, making her way downstairs. Louis turned off all of the lights and followed his wife, closing the door behind him. Before heading downstairs, he peeked in the guest bedroom – Ben’s old room – and said, “Marshall.”

His brother and nephews would be staying at the house with Ben and Molly for the week, keeping them company. He groaned.

“We’re off. Call if you need anythin’.”

Marshall grunted a response of what Louis figured was understanding.

Lyla was double checking notes in the kitchen regarding music lessons, dance class, and soccer training schedules for the week when Louis appeared. “Let’s go,” he said.

The two of them crept into the basement where Lucas and Tomas were sharing the couch that had folded out into a bed and made their way to Ben’s room, which had once been August’s. Mateo was sprawled out on an air mattress on Ben’s floor, looking more like Marshall with each passing day, while Ben was curled in his blankets on his bed.

“Sweetheart,” Lyla whispered so only Ben could hear. “Dad and I are going now. We love you.”

He stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open long enough to say goodbye to both of his parents and then closing just as abruptly.

Next, they went to Molly who had moved into the old guest bedroom. She had evidently fallen asleep listening to some playlist of power ballads, the singer she was turning into. Louis turned the docking speakers off as Lyla sat on the side of Molly’s bed. “Sweetheart, we’re leaving now.”

Molly was more aware of her surroundings and sat up to hug her mom and dad goodbye. “I hope you have a fun time,” she whispered loudly. “Make sure you call us. Don’t forget!”

“Of course. We won’t forget,” Lyla assured her.

“See you in a week, love,” Louis added and then they closed the door softly behind them and returned to the main floor, ready to catch their cab to the airport.

Several hours later, they found themselves lounging on the beach at sunset, their private rented home directly behind them and an empty beach and welcoming ocean directly in front. They each had a drink in their hand and were completely relaxed as the ocean waves sang their lullaby, drawing closer to Louis and Lyla as the sky was brilliant with oranges and pinks, a lone star bright among the fading light.

“This is nice,” Lyla sighed.

“Hm,” Louis agreed. Then, “but I’m starvin’. What’re we eatin’ tonight?”

Lyla laughed, “me too. Let’s find somewhere.”

The two of them returned to the house to dress for dinner. They closed the two large glass doors that opened out onto the beach and locked them before attacking their suitcases. As soon as they had arrived, they were out on the beach; they hadn’t unpacked or really looked around. But the home was a nice size for a couple. It was one large room with an en suite and was decorated with a mix of modern and Hawaiian touches, a mixture of dark and light wood making it seem earthly. The attached kitchen was silver and cream with brand new appliances and the bathroom was large with a soaker tub that had sold Lyla on the place when they were searching for somewhere to stay.

Before dressing, they emptied their suitcases into the dresser with toiletries in the bathroom and stowed the cases in a storage closet for ease of use and movement. They would be living there for the next week.

With it being their official anniversary day, they decided to dress a little nicer and find somewhere a little more high-end to celebrate. After some online searches and a little bit of driving, they found themselves near a fancy hotel that had the type of restaurant they were looking for. They could sit outdoors and look out onto the ocean while enjoying good food and excellent company.

“Right,” Louis said once they were settled and had given their orders. “Sixteen things.” On their tenth anniversary, they had started a tradition of listing off things they loved about the other, and the list had naturally changed with the amount of years they had been wed.

“Can you think of that many?” Lyla joked.

“Easy.” The waitress brought them their wine and they took a few sips before beginning. Louis tried to think of things he hadn’t said before but inevitably repeated himself because the things he loved most about his wife never truly changed. “Let’s see… I love the way your smile stretches across your face.”

“One.”

Louis took her hand, grinning, “and I love the way you tilt your head back when you laugh.”

“Two.”

“I love… the kindness you show towards literally everyone. Most of the time. Even those you’re seethin’ about inside.”

Lyla chuckled, “three.”

Louis looked up, thinking. “I love the sound of your voice in the mornin’ when it’s all raspy and I can’t understand what your sayin’.”

“Four.”

“I love the way you look when you hear a piece of music you like.”

“How do I look?”

“You close your eyes and do this kind of swayin’ thing like you can’t control it. And you smile just a bit.”

She brought his hand to her lips then softly set it down. “Five.”

“Six: I love the way you massage my neck and shoulders after a long day. Seven: I love that look you get in your eyes when you talk about the ‘what ifs’ of the world. Eight: I love that even when you’re mad at me, you make sure we’re good before bed. Most of the time.”

“Most of the time, I’m not all that mad at you.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Nine: I love the affection you show me in private and in public. Ten: I love the affection and understandin’ you have for our children. Eleven: I love the encouragement you give our family in everythin’ that we do. Twelve: I love that you treat my brother’s brood like your own. Thirteen: I love the brilliant green of your eyes. Fourteen: I love the way your eyebrows angle kinda inwards when you’re really concentrated on something. Fifteen: I love that you’re almost always willin’ to try something new, and sixteen: I love that you went against your better judgement and decided to marry me.”

Lyla laughed, “I love you.”

Louis stood and leaned towards her so that they could kiss before sitting back down. “Your go.”

The waitress set down their starter salads and they each took a bite before Lyla began.

“First, I love that you are such a wonderful husband and father. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better than you.”

Louis winked and Lyla laughed.

“Second, I love those dazzling blue eyes. I don’t know how a real person could actually look like you do.”

Louis shrugged and took a sip of wine, pretending to be nonchalant.

“Three: I love how soulful you are; how you view the world through such an optimistic and inquisitive lens.”

“Did you write these down beforehand? ‘Cause I think that’s cheatin’.”

Lyla rolled her eyes and continued, “four: I love that you share every thought and dream that seems to pop into your mind. Five: I love that smirk you get when you’re messing with our kids or nephews.” She paused to take a couple of bites of salad and a sip of wine. “I love that you always support me with every crazy date, career, food, or craft idea that I have.”

“That one’s always a gamble. Six.”

“Ten more?”

Louis nodded, smirking.

“Um… number seven: I love how mischievous you can be. Especially in your old age.”

“Ouch,” Louis replied, miming an injury to his heart.

“Eight: I love how you can make me smile with an almost one hundred percent success rate. Nine—”

“Almost?”

“Well, I’m counting the times you try to make me smile when we’re arguing.”

Louis shrugged, “fair play. Nine?”

“Nine: I love that you’re always willing to sneak out somewhere with me. Ten: I love that you gave me three children that I adore and who are talented beyond belief. Eleven: I love how much emotion and truth I can see in your eyes – truth, anger, love, all of it.”

“You already said my eyes,” Louis interrupted.

“Yes, but the first one was saying how hot you are. This is about what you show with them.”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Thanks.” Louis kissed her hand as she continued, “number twelve… I love the songs and poems you write for me just because. Thirteen: I love the fierce protection you show me and our children when needed. Fourteen: I love your talent in everything that you do. Fifteen: I love that you can cook literally anything successfully. And sixteen: I love that even though we haven’t been together for twenty-eight years, you have loved me for twenty-eight years.”

“I have,” Louis agreed, leaning to kiss her again.

With perfect timing, the waitress brought out their meals and they ate happily, looking out onto the ocean and catching glimpses of stars before heading back to their temporary home.

The tide was just about up to the beach loungers and the night was humid and clear. Louis and Lyla decided to get together some wine to share and some blankets in case it became cooler and sat outside under the stars just out of reach of the water.

Complete darkness surrounded them; even the moon was MIA, which made for excellent stargazing. Louis pushed his lounger closer to Lyla’s so that they could cuddle up next to one another while balancing the bottle of wine between them (they hadn’t bothered with glasses).

“Sixteen years of marriage,” Louis said after opening the wine bottle and taking a sip. “Apart from the marriage itself… and the kids… and the honeymoon, what was your absolute favourite moment of those sixteen?”

“How on Earth can you expect me to pick just one?”

“I’ll keep the wine to myself if you don’t.”

Lyla leaned over and snatched the bottle from her husband who stole a kiss as she did.

“What do you think?” he urged.

She thought for a moment as she took her own sip of the wine. “I don’t have just one favourite moment. My favourite thing is knowing that you’re there. If I’m sad or happy or angry – even if it’s at you – I know that you’re there. To comfort me or celebrate with me… or argue with me. It’s not a moment, it’s just knowing you’re there. Why, do you have a favourite moment?”

“Nah,” he shrugged, “just wanted to see what you’d say.”

Lyla laughed, “well maybe I’ll keep the wine to myself instead of sharing after all.”

Louis leaned his head back on the lounger and stared at his wife, “my favourite thing is getting to be with you. Wake up in the morning, there you are. Go to bed, there you are. Tell a joke or do somethin’ stupid, there you are laughin’ and callin’ me an idiot.”

“Pretty sure,” she said, leaning in close to him, “that’s exactly what I said but with an Irish accent.” She kissed his cheek as he grinned wide.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” she replied, shifting closer to him.

They listened to the ocean waves gently ebbing and flowing, never getting close enough to touch their chairs, while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, the air cooling a very little bit.

“Let’s go swimming,” Lyla said suddenly. The waves were gentle and the water was otherwise still; and she had had enough wine that it seemed a good idea.

“It’s too dark, love,” Louis explained, hoping that she’d see it his way.

But Lyla simply shook her head and stood next to the lounger, starting to undress.

“Ah, you’re thinkin’ that kind of swimmin’.” Louis was more interested, though he couldn’t see all that much of his wife in the dark.

“Coming?” she asked over her shoulder once the last bit of her clothing had been removed.

He watched her take a few steps into the water, pause a moment – to shiver, he expected – and then rush in up to her waist, quickly diving under and then breaching the surface.

“Cold?” Louis asked over the sound of waves.

“It’s perfect.”

Louis then followed suit, removing his own clothing and racing into the water after his wife. The water wasn’t cold at all; the summer sun had warmed it and the humid air meant that any coolness in the absence of sun was a relief. Once reaching Lyla, he pulled her close to him and rested his head on hers, which she leaned against his chest comfortably. The two of them stared out to the horizon where the stars seemed to stretch in the endless sky.

“Beautiful,” Lyla whispered, running her fingers slowly up and down Louis’ spine.

“Good choice,” Louis agreed, circling his own fingers on his wife’s exposed back.

She kissed his chest and pulled him closer to her as if clinging to him for life. He ran his hands down to her thighs, grasping at her flesh before picking her up so that they were more or less eye level with one another and could look into one another’s eyes.

“You’re pretty,” she said after a moment.

Louis laughed, “pretty?”

“Mhmm,” she replied, tightening her legs’ grip around her husband’s waist. “Pretty eyes,” she said, kissing each eye lid, “pretty nose,” she kissed his nose, “pretty lips,” and she kissed his lips.

“I’ll take it,” he whispered, kissing her again more feverishly, neither of them even a little cold.

“Take me to land,” she softly demanded, kissing his neck as he trudged back to the loungers. He set her gently on the pile of blankets and climbed on top of her, kissing her lips, her neck, her breasts and her navel, tasting the salty ocean water on her wet skin. Goosebumps over her slowly drying skin formed as he kissed the insides of her thighs and worked down to her ankles. Her fingers wrapped around his arms urged him back to her so that she could kiss him and drink him in, tracing her own way along his jaw, neck and collarbone. “I love you so much,” she whispered in his ear, biting his lobe softly.

He shook his head and pulled her closer towards him, wrapping one arm around her while the other held the two of them up. She wrapped her own arms around his neck and titled her pelvis up towards his, feeling him hard against her. With pointed restraint, he entered her slowly, briefly clenching his jaw as she let out a soft sigh. And as had become a tradition of sorts, they made love on their anniversary beneath the starry sky.

Lyla awoke in the morning in their vacation bed with Louis next to her as the light began to filter in from what was sure to be another sunny day. She slipped out of the bed and tiptoed to the bathroom. As she washed her hands, she noticed that the salt water had defined her curls but sleeping with wet hair had made it poof to double its normal size. She laughed to herself, found a hair tie and headband, and tamed it as much as she could. She would wash it later but wanted to get in a session of yoga on the shore.

Back in the main living area, she quietly rifled through the dresser and pulled on her sports bra and ankle-length leggings that were easy to move around in. Taking one of the beach towels supplied by the rental owners, Lyla made her way to the shore edge where the sand was wet and compact – a little easier to balance on – from hightide that would be arriving again in a few hours.

She began her poses, finding balance in the uneven sand and moving with the sound of the waves. Shortly into her practice, Louis snuck next to her and planted a kiss on her neck, causing her to lose her balance. She laughed and pushed him away, “get out.”

“Goin’ for a run, want to come?”

“No, I’m going to finish here.”

He gave her a thumbs up and began running off barefoot along the shore. Lyla watched for a moment, admiring the muscles in his back and calves, and then continued with her poses.

Once the two of them were showered and ready for the day, they began their week of doing whatever they wanted, which largely consisted of food, hiking, and drinking in one another’s presences. Although their children could more or less fend for themselves and didn’t require constant attention from their parents any longer, it was nice to know that they didn’t have to worry about lessons or practices or entertainment for Ben or Molly; they would call home and talk to them for a little bit but could be free from parental obligations otherwise. In the evenings, they would walk in either direction along the beach until the sun set and the stars and moon came out; they would eat meals together, Louis using the kitchen to make something delicious for them both instead of wasting all of their money eating out; they would stare at the stars or watch a movie or take a bath or make love without worry of interruption. And they hoped that many years down the road, they would still want to do those things as much as they wanted to now.

* * *

  
_December 2024_

“I think we just need to call him,” Lyla decided. “Marshall and the boys are going to come over soon and I want to have a private chat without your brother piping in every two seconds.”

Louis smiled, “just be patient. He said he’d call when he’s available and he will. It’s what, six their time? Probably havin’ dinner with Evie’s parents and then they have to get back to their place. Be patient, love.”

Lyla sighed. They were waiting on August who had been living in the UK for close to a decade and had only been back home once within that time. He found his niche there and was flourishing in working with the orchestra, composing his own music, and performing in seedy little pubs and venues all over the place. He had also finally seemed to settle down with a girl after a string of short-lived hardly-serious relationships that Lyla thought more or less resembled August’s uncle’s attitudes towards relationships. She was pleased that he had found Evie, a lovely-looking Irish girl who had the same inclination towards music as August had. They had been together for the past year and a half and Lyla was constantly worried that it could end at any moment, though she hadn’t heard anything to suggest it would. But she had yet to meet the girl, so she couldn’t say for sure. “I guess we may as well start getting ready then.” They had already opened Christmas gifts and had their standard breakfast with Molly and Ben. Lyla had started the turkey and Louis was in the process of making everything else, though this year they would only be hosting Marshall and his sons, everyone else suddenly spending Christmas at their partner’s relatives’. They had cleaned and set up everything that needed setting up, so there was nothing else to do but get ready themselves.

“I’m goin’ to get started on boilin’ the potatoes first. You can hop in the shower first. I’ll make sure Ben and Molly are gettin’ ready too.”

“Okay,” Lyla agreed, kissing Louis’ cheek before heading to their master bath to shower. She briefly thought how ridiculous is was to dress up for Christmas dinner at home. Especially when it was just Marshall. But that’s what they did on Christmas.

She took a long shower, hoping that when she got out, August would call. She washed and conditioned her hair before drenching it with cream to help define her curls and let that set before shaving her legs and underarms and exfoliating her skin all over. By the time she finished, the bathroom was hot and steamed and she knew some time had passed.

Exiting the bathroom, Louis was lounging on the bed.

“Did August call?” she asked immediately, wondering why he was there.

“Nah, not yet,” he replied, sitting up. “Ben’s watchin’ the food, makin’ sure nothing boils over. Molly is just about ready. I’m goin’ to hop in the shower right away.”

“Why don’t you use the main bathroom?”

“Need a bit of a shave and you locked the door.”

“Did I?” she sometimes locked the bathroom door without realizing, making it inconvenient in the mornings if Louis was running late and had forgotten to brush his teeth or needed something else from the bathroom. “Sorry. Well, it’s all yours now.” She engaged in her usual routine of moisturising, make up and dressing while Louis shaved and took a quick shower in the mean time.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she was blow drying her hair in her underwear, her makeup done and her clothes laid out. Louis dressed with little thought, applying some moisturiser to his face, hands, and feet before spraying a little bit of cologne and putting a little bit of product in his hair. “Aren’t you ready yet?” he joked as she put the hair dryer away.

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him while she started to pull on her dress.

“I’m goin’ to check on how everythin’s comin’.” He kissed her cheek, “see you in a few,” and disappeared out of their bedroom and down the stairs.

Lyla finished up and took a quick look in the mirror to make sure her dress was falling as it should and that her makeup and hair were cooperating before making her own way downstairs. She could hear someone – she assumed Louis – working in the kitchen, metal on metal as things were stirred or cut or drained. She thought Molly and Ben would be in the living room watching TV but figured they might be in the basement trying to hookup the new VR system they received for Christmas so that they could play with their cousins who would be arriving soon.

She glanced in the dining room to check that everything was neat and ready for entertaining and made her way to the kitchen where Louis was working over the stove. “How’s it looking?” she asked, patting his backside. “It smells wonderful.”

“Think that’s your turkey, which I basted for you. Everythin’ here’s good. But can you check my phone? I think it was ringin’ but my hands were tied.”

“Where is it? And where are Molly and Ben? They should be helping you out.”

“Ah, I told them to go down and set up that game thing. They’re fine. It’s in the livin’ room on the coffee table.”

She kissed his shoulder and made her way to the living room, hoping it wasn’t August who had called Louis’ phone. But as she made her way to the living room, she was stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting on the chair facing her was her eldest son with a wide grin stretched across his face. “What!” she shrieked once she comprehended the situation.

August laughed and stood, meeting his mother halfway, the two of them wrapping their arms around each other. Immediately, Lyla felt tears stinging her eyes and pulled back to look at her son’s face before her vision was completely blurred and her makeup was ruined. “What the heck?”

“Surprised?” he asked.

Lyla scoffed, “of course I am! This is so wonderful. I was getting so upset that you hadn’t called yet.”

“Yeah, that’s what dad was saying. Sorry I didn’t call,” he joked.

“This is much better anyway. How long were you planning this?”

August sat on the sofa and his mom followed, “a couple of months. That’s why it’s just Uncle Marshall coming over. He doesn’t know yet either though. Figured it’d be too much with everyone here.”

“This is so wonderful,” she repeated. “The best Christmas gift I could have hoped for.” She hugged her son again before he turned her attention to another person in the room that Lyla hadn’t even noticed.

“This is Evie.” He motioned to a young woman with dark hair who had been standing off to the side, observing the scene with a smile.

“Hi,” she said, reaching her hand out, “it’s so nice to finally meet you.” She had a strong Irish accent, much stronger than Louis’ was now that he had been in the US for so long.

Lyla took her hand and then drew her into a hug, “I’m so happy to meet you.”

The three of them sat and chatted, Louis, Ben, and Molly joining shortly after until Lyla excused herself to check and fix her makeup before Marshall and her nephews arrived to be surprised as well.

Louis finished up in the kitchen while Lyla helped with the turkey; their children and Evie disappeared into the basement to play with the kids’ new toy until their guests arrived.

“Did you have any idea at all?” Louis asked as they set the table.

“None,” she shook her head. “You were acting a little off when I was getting ready, but you’re a suspiciously good liar.”

He shrugged, “I practiced beforehand.”

Just then, they heard the front door open and a loud “hullo” told them that Marshall and their nephews had arrived.

“In the kitchen,” Louis shouted back.

Lyla rinsed her hands and dried them off before heading to the door to meet the family. “Merry Christmas!” she said with a wide grin, holding open her arms for her nephews’ hugs, which they gave enthusiastically.

“Where are your mongrels?” Marshall huffed, setting down a collection of bags containing gifts.

“They’re downstairs playing with their new toy,” Lyla said. “You should check it out.”

“You go,” he said to his sons, “I’m gettin’ busy in the kitchen.”

“No, you’re not,” Lyla interjected. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. We’ll call you up.”

“Lou, your wife’s bossin’ me around again,” Marshall joked, following his kids towards the basement. Downstairs, Molly was wearing a weird helmet and flailing absurdly while Ben laughed. When the latter saw his uncle and cousins, he greeted them excitedly and started rambling about the new VR game they got. Marshall listened but understood hardly any of it; he didn’t understand the draw of virtual reality.

“You gonna try it?”

The addition of an unexpected voice startled Marshall as he turned to see its source and exclaimed “shit!” upon seeing his eldest nephew. He pulled August into a bear hug. “What the hell, man? How long’ve you been here?”

“Just got in this morning actually. Hey Matt. Luke, Tom.” He hugged each of his cousins who were just as stunned as their dad. “This is Evie.”

“Another one down,” Marshall sighed, lamenting his family’s incessant need to settle down. First his son, now his nephew.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Evie said, shaking Marshall’s hand.

“Ah, an Irish girl? Least you’ve got good taste. When’s the date?”

“Oh… we haven’t decided yet,” August replied, taken a little off guard.

“What date?” Molly asked, ears perking at the mention of unknown news.

“Evie and I are engaged,” August explained as Evie held up her left hand, receiving a squeal from his sister.

“What, no one knows?” Marshall asked.

“It’s been kind of hectic,” August said. “We didn’t have a chance and no one noticed.”

“Your mam’s goin’ to kill me if she finds out we all knew before her,” Marshall whispered. “Get up there.”

Feeling like a child again, August followed his uncle’s command and headed upstairs with Evie in tow.

“Mom,” he said as he reached the top of the stairs.

Lyla was busy pulling apart the turkey so people could easily serve themselves while Louis was finishing up the gravy. “He sounded surprised,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah he was.” August paused. “But I have something to tell you.”

Hearing the tone change in their son’s voice, both Lyla and Louis paused. “What is it?”

“So,” he edged closer with Evie and then said quickly, “Evie and I are engaged.”

Lyla was stunned silent and Louis laughed at her expression before pulling August into a hug, “congrats, man.”

Lyla shook her head, “oh my God. August.” She wrapped her arms around her son and then pulled Evie in as well. “I can’t believe it.” She pulled away, feeling oncoming tears again, “why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I just did.”

She lightly slapped his shoulder, “you know what I mean.” Then she considered something and rolled her eyes, “your uncle already knows, doesn’t he?”

August pursed his lips. “Maybe.”

“Of course he does.” She smiled tearfully, “it doesn’t matter. I’m so happy for you both. Go on and take a seat. Dinner’s ready.”


	49. 2038

_April 2038_

Louis Connelly left his office shortly after noon as he normally did to meet his wife for lunch. In a few more months, the routine would certainly change; he would be retired and have a lot more time for… whatever else. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with his time but had a hunch it would involve music. Marshall was still working in management and his business was thriving with a number of people working under him. He would probably help out there in some capacity, especially now that his daughter, Molly, was pursuing a music career under her uncle’s watchful eye.

He usually met Lyla on campus following her morning lectures, sitting in the courtyard if it was nice out, sitting in her office if it was gloomy or if they wanted more privacy. Over the past couple of weeks, however, he had started meeting her at the hospital where she was undergoing radiation therapy for breast cancer.

While he was at work, she would start her treatment, which would last about half an hour and would finish just as Louis arrived. She was still lecturing, her classes only being scheduled in the morning anyway, but she didn’t think it would last long; she was being completely drained. She had already cancelled several classes due to fatigue and the resulting absence.

“Mr. Connelly,” the receptionist smiled. “Your wife will be out shortly.”

“Thanks, Marie,” Louis said, taking a seat in the waiting area. He had shown up every day without fail, often early before he figured out the timing properly, and had started to get to know the nurses and orderlies quite well.

After a few moments of chatter, Lyla was wheeled out in a chair looking beyond exhausted. He stood to meet her, apparently concern clear on his face because she smiled and said, “I’m fine.”

He kissed her cheek and helped her slowly to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “Thanks, ladies,” he waved to the staff, leading Lyla outside. She needed to pause and sit on a bench outside, so they did so.

She sighed once she felt like she caught her breath, “I talked to Ted today.”

“And?”

“I’m going on sick leave.”

“Good.” This news made Louis feel relieved. He felt like she was pushing herself too much, trying to prove that nothing had changed, refusing to believe that her health was really all that affected.

“I don’t think I can take the subway home,” she shook her head, feeling a bit ill and not at all hungry.

“No,” Louis agreed. “We’ll call a cab.”

“You’ll call me a cab and then you’ll go back to work,” Lyla challenged.

“You keep thinkin’ that.” Louis hailed a cab and then led Lyla in before getting into the other side. While the cab started on its way back to their home, Louis called work and informed them that he’d be taking the afternoon off and delegated different responsibilities to those who worked under him. As he spoke, Lyla took his hand in hers and nodded off to sleep. Louis was glad that he had made the decision he had. She had never reacted so poorly right after her treatment, though the first day might have been a close contender. They still had five and a half more weeks of these treatments five days a week. He imagined it would get a lot worse before it got better.

When the cab arrived in front of their house, Louis paid the driver and gently woke his wife. “C’mon, love, let’s get you inside.”

She followed his instructions and leaned into him, barely awake, as they walked up the pathway to their home.

Louis unlocked the door and held it open for Lyla. “Bed or couch?” he asked.

“Couch,” she nodded. She wasn’t ready to be an old, bed-ridden lady yet.

He helped her to the sofa and handed her the remote controls before heading to the kitchen to heat up a cup of broth with some saltines, her preferred meal after a rough bout of therapy. Louis placed the serving tray over Lyla’s lap and kissed her before making a sandwich for himself and joining her as they watched the Gameshow Network.

Louis was startled awake by his phone ringing. “Jesus Christ,” he croaked. “We’re old.”

Lyla laughed, her own voice hoarse from her ‘nap’ that had really helped her feel better, seeing how the nap had lasted the entire afternoon.

“Hello?” he answered. “Hey, love, how’s it goin’?”

Lyla held out her hand, indicating she wanted to talk to their daughter.

“Mam wants to talk, just a sec.” Louis passed the phone to Lyla before collecting the dishes they had placed on the coffee table before they fell asleep

“Hello, sweetheart, how are you?” Lyla said.

“Hi mom, I’m good. How’d treatment go today?”

“Oh, it was fine,” Lyla lied. “What are you up to?”

“Actually, I wanted to see if you guys are free tonight?”

“Yes, what are you thinking?”

“Well, there was a last-minute opening at this music thing— I’d be the opening act. The other singer pulled out. Uncle Marshall pulled a few strings and… I’m freaking out because this could be—Anyway, can you guys come?”

“Of course, sweetheart! When and where?”

Molly gave her mother the details as Louis tried to figure out what they were talking about.

“Okay, sweetie, we’ll see you tonight. I love you. Dad says bye. Okay. Bye.”

“Where will we see her tonight?” Louis asked, grateful for the half-day nap, knowing he wouldn’t be able to have a late night otherwise.

“She’s opening for some band. Actually, where you and the band used to play before you were signed. How cool is that?”

“That’s a pretty big deal,” he replied, impressed and excited for his only daughter.

“It is,” Lyla agreed. “I’m going to hop in the bath and relax a bit before getting ready then.”

“Alright, let me know if you need anythin’.”

Louis took the opportunity to do a little cleaning of the main floor, not that much needed to be done beyond a little dusting now that they didn’t have kids causing a mess all the time; that was now reserved for special occasions – when August and Evie were visiting with Colm or when Mateo and J brought over little Maya. They expected that with their children nearing their thirties, there would soon be many more. At least, they hoped so.

As it got closer to leaving time, Louis made his way up to check on Lyla’s progress and get ready himself. When he opened the door to their bedroom though, Lyla was lying in bed under the covers, far from being close to ready. He made his way to her side of the bed and sat on the edge to wake her up, “it’s time to get ready, mo chroí.”

She groaned, “I’m not going.”

“Why?” he asked, concerned by her change of heart but she simply shook her head in response. “C’mon, love. Molly’s expectin’ you. It’s a big moment for her.”

“I can’t,” she managed before she started to cry.

“Lyla,” he whispered, alarmed. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She sobbed for a few good minutes and he let her, holding her hand and rubbing her arm, until she was ready to stop and talk. “After my bath,” she began, “I wanted to wash my hair, so I hopped in the shower. But when I was rinsing out the conditioner… There was so much hair. I’m losing my hair,” she sobbed.

“Oh, my love,” he empathised. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I’m so sorry.” He knelt down (ignoring how rough getting up might be) so that he was face-to-face with his wife. Louis kissed Lyla softly and caressed her face with his hands, wiping her tears away. He silently comforted her until she had calmed down once more. “I know that it’s hard,” he explained. “It’s hard right now. It will grow back later—”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will, mo chroí. I promise it will.”

Lyla sniffed in response.

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“I want to see Molly,” she said softly. “But my hair—” Her voice cracked and Louis planted another kiss on her lips.

“Let’s see,” he said, turning on the table lamp so that he could get a better look.

Lyla sat up slowly with Louis’ aid (who she also helped stand, the physical toll from years of running catching up with him). She kept her eyes downcast as Louis examined her scalp.

“You know,” he said, “your hair is so thick that you can’t even tell that you’re missing anything.”

“But I lost so much,” she argued.

“It’s thinner,” Louis agreed, “but no one’d know the difference. And if you wear it up, it’ll look exactly the same.”

“I don’t want to touch it.”

“I can do it for you,” he offered with some hesitancy. Though if he caused more hair to fall out, it might make her feel better to have a scapegoat to be angry at.

“Be careful,” she instructed after a moment. She then went to sit in front of her vanity where he could use the different hair pins to hold it in place.

Louis had done his wife’s hair many times over the years, but he was never as delicate as he was this time around. Her hair was thinner; he could feel the difference. But he wasn’t lying when he said it didn’t look any different. Her thick hair and curly locks disguised any missing hair well. It took him a few minutes of careful clipping and pinning, but his wife’s hair was soon as regal as she was. “There,” he said, kissing her neck. “Beautiful as ever.”

“Liar,” she said, but she seemed like she was in a much improved mood. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” He gave her one more kiss. “I’m goin’ to hop in the shower myself. You can manage the rest?”

She nodded and smiled, looking a little more relieved as he disappeared into the bathroom.

When Louis got out of the bathroom, Lyla had all of her makeup on and was in the process of finishing dressing. “Where’d you get that dress from?”

“I’ve had it for years. I think I wore it for a performance once and then put it in my closet to collect dust. I don’t know why though. It goes really nice with my boots.”

“You look exquisite.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘exquisite’ in all the years we’ve been married.”

“Just haven’t been payin’ attention,” he winked. He rubbed lotion into his face, feet, and hands before putting the very little product in his hair and getting ready. By the time Lyla was fully dressed, Louis was ready to go as well. “What time is it?”

“We should get going,” Lyla answered.

They took Louis’ car and parked in a nearby parking garage for ease of travel before walking to the venue where people were lining up to get in. Louis and Lyla walked to the backstage door that they used to use when Louis and The Connelly Brothers would play there. There they met Marshall who Louis had texted to meet so that they could gain easy access.

“How’d you swing this?” Louis asked, referring to his daughter’s gig.

“Didn’t have to do much. The openers pulled out this mornin’ and they were in need of a time-filler, so I put Mol’s name in. She’s buzzin’.” They headed to the backstage area where Molly was busy checking over her set list and fiddling around with her guitar.

When she saw her parents, her mouth spread into a wide grin and she eagerly embraced both of them. “I’m losing my mind!”

“I can imagine,” Lyla smiled. “You look wonderful.”

“Do you like it?” she asked, holding out her arms so that her mom could get a better look at her outfit, which she had carefully chosen as a representation of her music – a little bit of rock and soul mixed with some down-to-earth Irish folk.

“It’s great, love,” Louis assured her. “Did you get a hold of Ben? Anyone else comin’?”

Molly nodded, “he and his new lady friend are out there. Matt’s here too. I think he and Ben were going out tonight anyway.”

“No J?” Lyla asked. J was Mateo’s wife who he had started dating in high school. She had quickly become part of the family, even more so with their young conception of their daughter.

“Haven’t seen her.”

“Right, show’ll be startin’ soon,” Marshall interrupted. “You two get lost. Mol, let’s get ready.”

Lyla and Louis made their way to join the rest of the audience. They spotted Ben with Mateo sitting near the back and went to take the seats next to them.

“Hey!” Ben said enthusiastically as his parents joined them. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“How could we miss it?” Lyla said, hugging her son and then Mateo in turn.

“Well, this is Carrie,” Ben motioned to the girl next to him who smiled and held out her hand. “That’s my mom, Lyla, and my dad, Louis.” The girl seemed a little stunned to be meeting the parents of someone she clearly hadn’t been seeing for that long.

“Nice to meet you,” Lyla said kindly, shaking her hand, before exchanging a knowing smile with her husband. Ben had always been very unaware of those around him – at least, unaware of how his actions affected others. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; his brain just put blinders on until it was pointed out to him, after which he normally apologised profusely. Lyla figured that was a big reason for Ben being unable to keep a relationship going all that long; the girls usually ended it early.

The venue was full of chattering people, most of whom had drinks in their hand. They weren’t there for Molly; they were there for the main act, but ever since she decided to pursue a career in music, she had been playing in small venues – pubs, bars, and the occasional live music club – so this switch to such a big venue where popular bands had played over the years was a big deal, especially because these people might become part of her fanbase, helping her gain popularity throughout New York and, hopefully, the rest of the United States and, eventually, the world.

People continued to chat as the lights dimmed, a few people offering encouraging cheers. Molly’s acoustic guitar sounded, playing a familiar few chords, and her angelic voice echoed through: “It’s the end of the world as we know it. I feel fine.” Those who recognised the cover whooped. As she began to play expertly on the guitar, increasing the original song’s tempo, other people who didn’t know the cover joined in on the encouragement. As she reached the end, she slowed down the tempo again and ended the way she had begun. Her rendition won over most of the crowd, which was cheering enthusiastically for her. “Thank you!” she shouted into the mic. “My name is Molly Connelly. This next one’s an original called ‘Sweet Secrets’.”

Louis wondered if she had chosen the set list or if Marshall had told her. As an opening act, it was important to energise the crowd. Unknown acts would usually stick with covers like Molly had started with, including a few originals. She seemed to be following that formula and doing a good job of picking songs that would keep the crowd interested – songs with a fast tempo and a good melody. But he hoped that she’d at least do one that really showed her vocal range; she had a beautiful voice that had been finetuned through lessons over the years, and he believed people would be most interested if they knew that, yes, she could perform, but that she also had an amazing set of pipes.

She continued her set, mixing covers with her own upbeat pieces until she paused to speak a little more. “How are you all feeling tonight?” she shouted into the mic to which most people cheered. “I hope you’re enjoying my set. And I know it’s my job to get you pumped up, but I need to take a break just so that I can fit this next song in. It’s called ‘Diamond Tomorrow’ and it’s one of my parents’ favourite songs. They’re here supporting me today and I know they want me to play this one, so here it is.”

Both Louis and Lyla were happy with her decision. This was one of her best songs, showing both her talent on the guitar and her vocal range. They listened with the rest of the crowd, most people in awe of her vocals, giving supportive whoops and applause. However, halfway through the song, Lyla started to feel sick. She tapped Louis’ hand and rushed towards the bathroom and into a stall, feeling her stomach churn, a side effect from the treatments. She didn’t have to wait long until she was doubled over the toilet, her makeup surely running as she began to overheat so much so that she removed her dress between bouts of sick.

When Lyla hadn’t returned by the end of their daughter’s song, Louis went to check on her while the set phased into another cover. Outside of the ladies’ washroom, he contemplated the best way to approach it. He didn’t want to barge into the ladies’ if there were others in there, but he didn’t want Lyla to suffer alone. He glanced around and spotted a girl standing by herself, texting someone. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m wonderin’ if you could do me a favour? Could you check if my wife is in the bathroom – her name’s Lyla. She might be sick.”

The girl seemed a little unsure but nodded all the same, disappearing into the washroom. She returned a moment later, nodding and motioning for him to enter the bathroom, which he did.

“Lyla?”

“Louis,” her strained voice returned. “What are you doing?”

“Checkin’ on you.” He walked to her stall and gently tapped on the door.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I think I’m done. I’m overheating though.”

“Would you be able to get her some water?” Louis asked the girl who nodded and left. “Let me in, love.”

She unlocked the stall and he squeezed in next to her. She was sitting on the closed toilet fanning herself, in nothing but her underwear.

“That’s certainly an interestin’ look,” he joked.

Lyla wasn’t in a particularly joking mood and glared at him.

“Sorry. Are you feelin’ any better?”

She nodded and there was a knock at the stall door.

Louis opened it and took the water from the girl with a “thanks” and handed it to Lyla who drank most of the cup before pausing. He waited for her to speak in her own time.

“Thank you.” She passed the cup back to her husband. “I’m going to get dressed. Give me a minute.”

He stepped out of the stall and waited, expecting another woman to walk in at any moment and start screaming at him. But it didn’t happen. Lyla emerged after a moment, looking back to normal except for her smudged makeup.

She made her way to the sinks and mirror and groaned, “I look like a drug fiend.”

Louis laughed, “is there anythin’ I can do to help?”

She shook her head and fixed up her face and, more carefully, her hair until she was satisfied. “Okay, let’s go back out.”

They opened the door and startled the girl who had been leaning up against it – the same girl who had helped Louis. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just keeping other girls from going in.” Before they could thank her, she scurried off into the crowd.

“What a nice girl,” Lyla admired.

“Are you alright to stay?” Louis asked, clearly concerned.

Lyla waved him off, “I’m fine.”

But Louis noted the exhaustion in her eyes. If it were anything other than their daughter’s performance, they would certainly have left. They rejoined their son and nephew as Molly started to near the end of her set.

“Everything okay?” Ben asked in his father’s ear, both so that they could hear each other and so that Lyla wouldn’t notice.

“Rough day,” Louis replied in the same manner. “She’s okay.”

They listened for a little while longer until Molly ended her final song. “If you enjoyed my set, be sure to check out my music online. I’ll also be hanging around the rest of the concert, so I’ll see you around. Thank you!” The crowd cheered as she left the stage with her guitar.

Lyla grabbed Louis’ hand and pulled him along to the backstage area. She desperately wanted to go home, but not before she saw her daughter and gave her a hug and her praise.

Backstage, Marshall was congratulating his niece on a job well done and Molly was all smiles. “Mom! Dad!” she exclaimed when her parents appeared, clearly high from the performance rush. “What did you think?”

“You were brilliant, love,” Louis cooed, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m so glad you did that ‘Diamond’ song. Your voice was perfect.”

“Sweetheart,” Lyla said in turn, “you are so talented. I’m so proud of you. You definitely grew your fanbase tonight.” She hugged her daughter tightly and kissed her cheek, “we’re going to head home now though.”

“What? No, you can’t!” Molly complained, “we have to celebrate!”

“Sorry, love, not tonight,” Louis said, pulling her into another hug and whispering “mam’s not feelin’ well” in her ear so that Lyla couldn’t hear. The last thing Lyla needed was to feel guilty about ducking out.

“Okay,” Molly sighed. “But can I come visit tomorrow then?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Lyla smiled. “I’d like nothing better.”

Louis and Lyla said their final goodbyes to Molly and Marshall before heading back into the audience to say goodbye to Ben and Mateo. They left through the front doors, which were far less crowded than they had been at the beginning of the night. The two walked slowly to the parking garage to get their car, speaking about Molly’s set and every single thing they thought.

“I know everyone says we look alike—” Lyla began.

“She’s your clone just with darker hair,” Louis interrupted.

“But,” she emphasised, “I was never as cool as her.”

Louis laughed and winked, “well, she had to get somethin’ from me.”

“Glad it was that and not your overinflated ego.”

“Ah, is that how it is?”

Lyla laughed and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder as they reached their car.

On the car ride home, music played softly but very little was said. Lyla fell asleep almost instantly while Louis got them safely home.

* * *

  
_July 2038_

Molly pulled up in front of her childhood home behind her mother’s car, which was parked in the driveway.

“That was lovely,” her mother said from the passenger seat. “I’m glad you got to celebrate with us.”

“I’m glad I got to celebrate with you too,” Molly smiled as her mom grasped her hand. “I’m just going to pop in and use the bathroom and then I’ll be on my way.”

Her father was already out of her car’s backseat and opening the door for Lyla. “Sure,” he said, offering his wife a hand.

Molly let them lead the way, admiring the love they showed for one another more than thirty years into their relationship. She couldn’t ever remember a time where they weren’t completely devoted to one another.

Louis fiddled with his keys at the door before unlocking it. He turned the handle and pushed it open before stepping back so that his wife and daughter could enter the house first. But as soon as Lyla stepped in, a chorus of “surprise!” forced Louis to poke his head in before Molly who soon ushered him in ahead of her.

Inside, the living room, dining room, and the main hallway were filled to the brim with their family and friends grinning from ear to ear and then laughing at Louis and Lyla’s stunned expressions.

Lyla looked back at Molly who was also smiling. “Happy anniversary,” she giggled, hugging her mom. “Surprised?”

“Very,” Lyla nodded as Louis went on to greet everyone. “How did you manage this?”

“I was the decoy. Ben and Matt did most of it. There are more surprises though.” She led her parents through the sea of love towards the backyard where a barbecue had been started and a miniature stage had been set up.

As Molly left to, as she put it, “set up the entertainment,” Lyla and Louis were left to greet their friends and family – some who they saw regularly like the member’s of Louis’ old band with their families and Mateo’s wife and ten-year-old daughter, Maya, all of whom they were quite close to; then there were others they didn’t get to see as often: August, Evie and their eight-year-old son, Colm; Lyla’s old friend from her Juilliard days, Lizzy, her husband, and her two children; Louis’ half-brother and his family, which had become much closer to August since he found himself in Ireland so often. Everyone had come to celebrate Lyla and Louis’ thirtieth year of marriage, an event which had been nearly a year in the making as the couple later found out.

The home was packed full of nearly everyone dear to them (they hoped the neighbours wouldn’t be too upset by the noise).

Molly led her parents to a couple of lawn chairs that had been set up in front of the stage and instructed them to sit down. All around them, others sat in chairs or on the grass or simply stood, quieting down as the mini-concert-to-be was about to begin.

“Hello,” Molly said into the microphone, testing its sound. “First off, I just want to thank everyone for coming. I think it’s safe to say that my parents were successfully surprised.” The guests laughed and applauded. “We’d been planning this for almost a year. We tried our best to track everyone down and I think it’s a testament to how amazing the two of you are to know that everyone agreed immediately, even if not everyone was able to make it in the end. One thing that we offered is for people to have the opportunity to share a few memories and a few stories, which we’ll start with.

“Because I have the mic, I’m going to bogart it for a little longer and start us off.” Molly placed the microphone that she had been holding into its stand before picking up her guitar and slinging the strap over her shoulder. She told a story about her parents and a rare fight that they had had, witnessed by their children (who they hadn’t known were eavesdropping). Despite the anger, she said, later in the evening, they had been sitting in their office, working and laughing with each other. It was the first time that Molly really understood her parent’s relationship and love. Molly transitioned seamlessly into a song she wrote in honour of Louis and Lyla, which ended with Lyla in tears and Louis close.

“You’ll have to suck it up a little, mom,” Benjamin said as he came to the stage while Molly hugged her parents. “There’s a lot more to go yet.”

Lyla shooed him with her hand as Louis rubbed her back and laughed.

So it went: their loved ones shared stories or songs or both in honour of Lyla and Louis’ thirtieth year of marriage. Lyla managed to keep it together or hide her tears for most of it while Louis held on by a thread, both of them incredibly touched by the sentiment, the time, and the effort that everyone put into their gifts.

When everyone who had wanted to share had done so, Louis went to the stage by himself. “We really’d like to thank everyone for all your love and support. I hope you know just how much it means to us. It has been a really tough year for us – Lyla, in particular – and we couldn’t’ve got through it if it wasn’t for all of you helpin’ out in your own ways. We appreciate it and appreciate all of you. Thank you!”

For the rest of the evening, guests indulged in food and drink provided by the Connelly children, giving Lyla and Louis an opportunity to indulge as well. And as it got later and people became higher on drink and something the young kids weren’t allowed to know about, the music started with everyone who was willing and able to play an instrument, picking one up and joining in; they played well-known songs but also played just for the hell of it, following each other’s leads.

Louis appreciated having kids who were grown up; they were still his children, but he had more freedom to just hang out with them without needing to worry about avoiding foul language, drinking, or smoking. As the sun set and the moon came out, several people had to hit the road – primarily those who weren’t accustomed to Connelly gatherings – and the children of those who stayed were sent to the basement to play while the adults stayed outside and gathered around the lit bonfire to exchange stories, drink, and smoke. Louis enjoyed being able to share a drink and a bud with his children and nephews.

“Where’d J go?” Marshall asked his eldest son who took the weed from his father.

“She’s with the kids. She didn’t want to be around the smoke.” Mateo took a hit before passing to Ben.

“What? She’s smoked before, hasn’t she?” Marshall asked.

“Yeah,” Mateo shrugged, “she doesn’t mind it. It’s just—” He grinned, “she’s pregnant.”

Marshall laughed, “shit, Matty. Congrats!”

“How far along is she?” Lyla asked from across the fire, excited for her nephew and excited with the prospect of being grandmother to a baby again (even if she was just an honorary grandmother).

“About five months now.”

“You can’t even tell!” Lyla exclaimed, shocked that she hadn’t noticed, considering J was wearing her usual t-shirt and jeans, not something flowing and concealing.

“Yeah,” Mateo agreed. “It was like that with Maya too.”

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” Lyla smiled. “That’s so exciting!”

“Luke, Tom?” Marshall nodded.

“Fuck off,” Lucas laughed.

“Yeah, not for a while,” Tomas agreed.

Marshall dramatically rolled his eyes. “These guys—” he whispered loudly to Louis so that everyone could hear. Then he got a funny look on his face, “hey, I’ll be right back.”

“Everythin’ alright?” Louis asked.

“Yeah, just ate too fuckin’ much.” He stood and disappeared into the house.

Mateo watched his father disappear, instantly worried… as he was. When enough time had passed and his father didn’t return, Mateo excused himself to check on him and found him sitting in the dining room. “Everything alright?”

“Uh,” Marshall coughed. “Yeah.”

Noting his father’s strained voice, Mateo said, “you don’t sound it. What’s going on?”

His father took a deep, laboured breath, “don’t panic, man. I’m waitin’ on an ambulance.”

“What?” Mateo could feel the panic rising anyway.

“Think I’m havin’ a fuckin’ heart attack. Called 9-1-1. Should be here any minute.”

Mateo went to the living room and unplugged his phone from where it had been charging. “Let’s go wait outside.”

“You’re not comin’, Matty. I’ll be fine.”

“You think you’re going to stop me? You’re in no shape. Let’s go, old man.”

Marshall snickered despite himself, “your mam used to call me old man.” He took his son’s offered arm and they went outside to wait for the ambulance.

Mateo didn’t think his father was too far gone if he was still able to communicate and walk. Luckily, the paramedics arrived a moment later, so Mateo didn’t have to wait and see if his father was worse than he thought. He hopped into the back of the ambulance with his father while the paramedic asked questions and tended to Marshall, the ambulance speeding towards the hospital.

When they arrived, Mateo was forced into the waiting area where he texted his wife to fill her in on what was happening, asking her not to worry anybody if they weren’t aware of the ambulance that had come and left without anyone else coming out from the house.

It was ages of texting back and forth between Mateo and J, Mateo and his Uncle Lou, Mateo and Ben, Mateo and Tomas, until an orderly informed Mateo that he could see his father. And it was a good thing too because his phone was almost out of battery.

Seeing his dad in the hospital bed, pale and haggard, transported Mateo back twenty-five years ago when his mother had been in the same position and he felt panic grip him unexpectedly. Trying to avoid making a scene and going into a full-blown panic attack, he sat on a nearby chair and leaned over so that his head was between his knees. He tried to control his breathing and forget about the image of his mother in the hospital bed shortly before her death, but it kept flashing in his mind and all he could think about was what this heart attack could mean for his father. Even though he was grown and had a family of his own, he couldn’t picture a world without Marshall Connelly.

“Breathe, Matty.”

Mateo felt like he was going to scream or pass out. Or both. But his father kept repeating, “breathe” from the hospital bed. It helped a little bit; Mateo thought it was a bit odd that the man from the hospital bed was trying to help the man who was supposedly healthy.

“You’re alright, Matty. I’m alright. Just breathe, man.”

Mateo felt like he was a child again, when he experienced panic attacks a lot more frequently. They happened rarely now, which made him feel like he was less able to cope with them. But his father’s calm reassurances eventually brought him to the present. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“You’re fine,” Marshall said, sighing with relief. He had witnessed many a panic attack in his son. Most of the time, he came back out of it fine, but there had been a couple of bad ones where he had hyperventilated and passed out. He figured it was good they were in a hospital this time around.

“It’s just—”

“Your mam.”

His dad always had a knack for knowing exactly what had caused the attacks over the years. He knew his son really well.

“Part of the reason I didn’t want you comin’. You don’t need to be around all this.”

Mateo shook his head, “I’m okay. Are you?” Feeling sure that his legs were no longer rubber, he went to his father’s bedside and sat on the edge.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Mr. Connelly,” a man’s voice interrupted cheerfully. The doctor greeted both Marshall and Mateo with a chart in hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just had a heart attack.”

The doctor chuckled, “tired? Any soreness?”

“Yeah, tired. No pain anywhere.”

“Fatigue is to be expected. Your heart’s very weak right now so it won’t be pumping like it should. We’re going to have to keep you for a few days until your heart is strong enough for you to go home.”

Marshall groaned.

“When is the last time you had a physical, got checked out?”

Marshall pursed his lips, “no clue.”

“Well, you’ll be getting very well-acquainted with medical professionals for the foreseeable future. Your cholesterol and blood pressure are both high, which is what lead to the heart attack. Do you eat well?”

“No,” Marshall admitted. He quit drinking twenty-five years ago so that he could be around longer for his kids; he wasn’t going to go out now because he didn’t tell the doctors the truth.

“Do you smoke?”

“Socially – cigars, weed, that kind of stuff.”

“And how often are you ‘social’?”

Marshall grunted a laugh, “every weekend or so. I work in music at shows a lot; it comes with the territory.”

“Do you drink at these shows as well?”

“Nah, that’s one good choice I made awhile ago.”

“He gave up drinking twenty-five years ago,” Mateo piped in.

“Was this due to alcoholism or…?”

“Nah, wasn’t addicted; it was easy to quit. My da died from liver cancer and I thought I was headin’ down the same road.”

“Excellent. It’s good to know that you’re someone willing to make some changes. I suggest you stop smoking socially or at all, and you are going to be put on some medications to help lower blood pressure and cholesterol. You’re also going to meet with a dietician to go over what you can and can’t have so that you can stick around for your grandkids. Getting a little bit of exercise once your healthy again is also going to make a big difference. But, like I said, you’ll be here for a few days so we’ll go through all of this. You might want your son to get some things to keep you entertained; you’ll have to leave work until your better to avoid stress—”

“I’ll be more stressed if my company goes under because I didn’t—”

“I’m sure you have folks who will help you sort everything out until your back to your old self,” the doctor interrupted, clearly used to patients making excuses.

“I’ll take care of it, da,” Mateo assured him. “Don’t worry.”

Marshall sighed, feeling defeated, and laid his head back to look at the ceiling.

“For now, Mr. Connelly,” the doctor said, “rest. Tell your son what you need him to do and then get as much sleep as you can.”

Marshall dictated a list of items he wanted Mateo to pick up for him to ease his boredom and discomfort at the hospital, and then did as he was told and happily went to sleep.

Mateo waited outside for his wife to pick him up. He was adamant that no one would be going to visit his father in the hospital, at least not on his first night. J was good about putting her foot down and getting people to do what she asked despite her small size, so she conveyed the message well. When she pulled up, she met her husband with a hug.

“Where to first?” she asked as they began to pull away.

“We’ve gotta go back to my aunt and uncle’s to get da’s keys, then we’ll get to his place. Then back to the hospital.”

Back at Louis and Lyla’s house, Mateo and J were more or less bombarded by all of the concerned guests. Mateo assured them all that he was okay and filled them in on his upcoming stay in the hospital and how he just needed rest right now.

Lyla got her nephew away from the crowd to speak to him. She saw him as her own son, the two of them having always had a close relationship, and he certainly saw her as a surrogate mother. “How are you really doing?”

Mateo shook his head, “he’s okay and he will be okay.”

“That’s not what I asked, Mateo.”

He sighed, “I had a moment of panic when I saw him in the hospital bed. He doesn’t look good. It reminded me of mama. But the doctor said he would be okay.” But as he thought about it, he realized that the doctor said no such thing. He took a deep breath.

Lyla squeezed his arms and drew him into a hug, “he will be okay. If there’s one thing your father is, it’s stubborn. He’s not going to let something like a heart attack take him down.”

Mateo chuckled and nodded, “you’re right.”

“Okay,” she patted his shoulder. “You’d better get going. If you need anything – at any time, anywhere – please let me know. I will be wherever you need to be with a snap of your fingers.”

“Got it,” Mateo grinned before heading out with his wife to the house he had shared with his father and brothers in his teens.

The place was a lot neater than he ever remembered it being with the four of them living there. His father now had an actual bedroom and had converted Mateo’s old room into a personal office so that he could work from home as needed. Mateo worked through his father’s list, which consisted of a couple of electronics and books. He was hesitant to bring his father his laptop, tablet and phone for the sole reason he could contact work from the hospital, but he decided that since the electronics were already fully charged, he would ‘forget’ the chargers and force his father to ration the use of them over his hospital stay.

Back at the hospital, he entered with J, partially because she wanted to see her father-in-law and partially because Mateo was worried he’d panic again. But he need not have been concerned because his father was laughing with a nurse who was checking in on him, clearly trying to flirt with the poor woman who didn’t seem too bothered by the attention.

“Heya Matty,” Marshall greeted. “J, how’s it goin’?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she replied.

“Yeah, well,” Marshall shrugged. “Michelle, this is my oldest, Matty, and his wife, J.”

“Hope my da’s behaving himself,” Mateo said, eyeing his father who rolled his eyes.

“A perfect gentleman,” Michelle giggled. “You call me if you need me, Mr. Connelly,” and she left the three of them alone.

“Don’t flirt with the nurses,” Mateo complained. “The last thing you need to be doing is getting excited.”

Marshall guffawed, “just give me my things, you shit.”

Mateo carefully placed his father’s bag of belongings on his lap so that he could look through it all.

“Where are the chargers, Matty?”

“You’re not supposed to be working so you’ll have to ration the power you’re using.”

Marshall shook his head, “should’ve known you’d do somethin’ like this, you bastard.”

Mateo grinned and shrugged, “yeah, well.”

“K, I’ll need you or Luke—maybe better to pass it on to Luke; he’s done it all before.” He thought for a moment before rifling through his belongings to find his notebook and pen. He took a moment to scribble down some notes and then ripped the page out. “If you take care of the actual building,” Marshall said, holding out the folded note for Mateo to take, “Luke’ll handle the music and managin’ side of things, yeah? He knows what needs to be done.”

“You’re going to leave Luke in charge? Of all people?”

“Watch it. He’s your brother… and more like me than either you or Tomas are. You just check in on the buildin’ and all that stuff, and he’ll make sure everythin’ else is taken care of. Give the kid some credit.”

“Alright,” Mateo nodded, not entirely convinced. His brother wasn’t exactly reliable and had been more trouble than it was worth most of the time growing up. He was a hot-head. “Everyone knows that you’re here. I told them they couldn’t come by tonight, but I figure you should expect a shitload tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Marshall nodded. “I’m goin’ to take the doctor’s advice now and get some sleep, yeah?”

Mateo nodded, hugging his father and letting J do the same, before the two of them said their goodbyes and made their way back to Mateo’s aunt and uncle’s to settle in with their daughter for the night.

* * *

  
_October 2038_

“Are you alright?”

Lyla’s lips were stretched thin as she absent-mindedly chewed on her bottom one, something she did when she was very nervous about something. And she had good reason. She knew what musicians did – what her husband did – on tours. Now her youngest child and her only daughter, who was so much like Louis, would be travelling the United States on tour following a series of newly nationally released and rapidly successful songs under her recently chosen stage name, Elza. She was getting recognized in public and it was happening so quick – a matter of mere months. Lyla worried that she would be harmed or get taken advantage of even though she would have Luke with her and even though Lyla had forced her to take boxing from a young age lest she ever need to defend herself.

“Lyla?”

Louis’ voice finally permeated her restless mind and she was brought back to the present as they were directed to their seats for their daughter’s kick-off performance. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

Lyla shook her head as if to clear it, “I’m fine. Just thinking about Molly.”

“She’s goin’ to be fine. Luke’ll watch out for her and keep the creeps away. She has a good team of people with her. Marshall made sure of it.”

“I know.” She smiled, “I can’t help it.”

Louis kissed her cheek, “I know you can’t. And I love you for it.”

They found their seats in the arena and Lyla could hardly believe how many people there were in such a big space. Were they all there to see her Molly? “This is overwhelming. It all happened so fast.”

Louis shook his head, “it’s incredible. I’m so proud of her.”

They sat through the opening act who was talented in her own right before her daughter eventually took to the stage to a very warm and loud reception. Both Lyla and Louis couldn’t help but grin for nearly the entire concert, so much so that their cheeks were hurting afterwards. How had they managed to raise three kids who were each so talented and successful? August was travelling the world with his wife and son, a coveted musician and special guest for many an orchestra in many a place; Ben had pursued a career in fitness, becoming the black sheep of the family for all intents and purposes, and was a reasonably successful private personal trainer who was working towards opening and running his own gym; then Molly was pursuing her singing career, which she had been working towards for her entire life, and was beginning to gain fame on top of it.

Louis was glad that he had decided on home and family instead of continuing to pursue a career that would have brought him far away so frequently. Being home more meant that he had more opportunity to see his children grow and develop into the successful adults they had become, and he liked to think he had some sort of role in that development. He definitely would not change his choice if he had the opportunity (except maybe to come to the decision earlier on).

After Molly finished her last song, Louis and Lyla rushed to meet her backstage, their passes allowing them access. When Molly saw her parents, she ran to greet them, and they hugged her despite her skin being damp with sweat. “Well done, sweetheart! You were perfect!” Lyla cooed after they broke apart.

“Yeah?” Molly seemed unsure. “There were a couple of songs where I messed up the—”

“Perfect,” Louis agreed. “Not everythin’s goin’ to go like you want, but that’s what singin’ live is. And everyone loved it all.”

She shook her head, grinning, “it’s surreal, the amount of people who know and actually like my music.”

“And in no way surprising,” Louis assured her, kissing her forehead.

“Right,” Luke interrupted, “you have an interview to do and then we have to get on the bus. Tour has officially started.”

Molly hugged her parents one last time, receiving well-wishes and notes of caution from them both and giving a promise to call at least weekly. Then she headed back with an assistant to complete an interview about the start of her tour.

“Luke,” Louis called before his nephew could escape into the back as well.

His body language and roll of the eyes indicated he knew what was coming.

“You make sure to watch out for her. Don’t let anyone take advantage and—”

Luke held up his hands, “Da already told me to keep guys like me away from her and threatened dismemberment if she got into any trouble. You guys know that she’s a grown woman, right?”

“She’ll be okay,” Lyla agreed, convincing herself as much as Louis. “She knows how to defend herself in any case. Just… I’m glad you’re going with her, Lucas. If there’s any trouble, please let us know… especially if she tells you not to.”

Luke seemed a little abashed by his aunt’s trust in him and nodded, “yeah, I’ll do that, auntie.”

She and Louis both hugged him before he went to join his cousin and any number of other people surrounding her.

“How do you do that?” Louis asked as they began to make their way out.

“Do what?”

“Melt the kids into submission even as grown adults.”

Lyla laughed, “they’re all a bunch of softies. You just need to know what buttons to push. And with Luke being so much like Marshall, I’d thought you would have figured out the right combination by now.”

“I still don’t get Marshall half the time, never mind.”

By then, the concert crowd had all but disappeared and employees were hard at work cleaning and disassembling. The two walked hand-in-hand towards the exit on the tail end of the crowds. They’d be taking the subway and a taxi home but since it was a Friday night and they had no obligations Saturday morning, the two of them decided to join the late-night crowd for a drink at a noisy sports bar.

They found a tall table that looked out onto the busy street outside and Louis ordered their drinks: a Guinness for himself and a Tom Collins for his wife.

“What is something that happened during one of your tours that you never told me?” Lyla asked after taking a sip of her drink.

Louis chuckled, “you’re supposed to be trying not to worry.”

“That bad?”

Louis sighed, “nah, I think I told you mostly everything. Uh… one night when August was with us, he got blasted drunk again—”

“I figured he would have. I’d bet more than once.”

Louis grinned and shrugged non-committedly. “Got into some fist fights with strangers.”

“You or August?”

“Me. And Marshall. Sometimes Brian.”

“Over what?”

“Christ if I know. We were drunk or high most of the time.”

“Good to know,” Lyla said, making a mental list of things she needed to ask Molly about whenever she called to check in, hoping that their talks about drugs over the years had sunk in. She was adamant that Molly never try anything beyond weed but knew she had experimented with other substances in college. Possibly in high school too. “Anything else?”

“No,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. “You know, Molly is smarter than me or Marshall or any of the other boys were or are. She’s not in the same lifestyle – she’s more soul and folk – and she’s solo, which is—”

“That just means she doesn’t have the same support system.” Lyla held up her hands, “let’s change the topic. I’m just tormenting myself.”

Louis laughed and agreed, changing the topic to his upcoming retirement. He had recently celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday the past July and would be soon celebrating retirement before the year was out, leaving the office permanently at the end of November. They would be hosting a Thanksgiving-Happy Retirement party to celebrate, and it was sure to be another huge shindig like their anniversary had been. Only this time it would be a bit colder and damper outside, limiting most guests to their main floor and basement.

“Have you given more thought about retirin’ in a few years?”

Lyla nodded, “probably from Juilliard but I’ll keep on with the Philharmonic for as long as they’ll have me.”

“What do you think of me givin’ guitar lessons or somethin’? I’m goin’ to be bored shitless with no kids or wife around durin’ the day.”

“I think that would be great for you. And you could always take over care for Mateo and J after the baby is born and they’re forced back to work. Plus, Ben’s bound to get some girl into trouble if he hasn’t already. There will be tonnes of kids to keep you busy.”

“Yeah, well as soon as you retire, and in your off-season, we’re goin’ to travel the world, so the grandkids’ll have to fend for themselves.”

Lyla laughed, “the best grandfather.”

They stayed for longer than they expected, ordering snack foods on top of a few more drinks, until they wanted to be alone together. Instead of taking the subway as originally planned, they booked a car and were home in half the time.

The house had been devoid of anybody but them on a regular basis for a couple of years now, both Ben and Molly moving on with their lives and careers, getting places of their own. Now the house was only full during family gatherings or visits, which was the only thing really keeping them from moving somewhere smaller; they loved to entertain.

Also, the one wonderful thing about having all of their kids out of the house was that they could fool around wherever and whenever they wanted, which is why they didn’t bother to go to their bedroom and found themselves on the living room couch. There was something about being naked in your living room that was oddly freeing, and they could be as loud is they wanted – and they frequently were – which was also very freeing. Although they would undoubtedly regret it in the morning, they fell asleep cuddled up next to each other with a thin throw blanket adding some extra warmth.

In the late morning, Louis and Lyla woke with stiff necks and sore backs but smiling faces. Louis pulled on his boxer-briefs and got to work on breakfast while Lyla cleaned up the living room, hers and Louis’ clothes strewn a lot further than she had expected. She folded everything so it was more easily transferable and started to head upstairs when the doorbell rang.

“I’m not answering that,” Lyla called to Louis who laughed.

“Toss me my shirt.” She did so and turned to continue upstairs. Louis saw his opportunity and pinched her fleshy skin, causing her to yelp in surprise and slap his hand away. “I’ll get it later,” he said suggestively, watching her disappear into their bedroom. He checked that he was reasonably decent as the doorbell rang again and answered the door.

On their front steps, Mateo, J, and little Maya were standing, well-dressed and grinning at Louis’ state.

“Fuck,” Louis said, remembering the lunch they had planned to go to for Maya’s birthday. Realising what he said, he apologised and told Maya never to repeat his language. “Was thinkin’ we were doin’ this Sunday for some reason.”

“Did you just wake up?” Mateo asked as the three of them stepped into the house.

Louis nodded, “yeah. Just started makin’ breakfast actually. Happy birthday, Maya.”

“Thank you,” she replied shyly.

“Listen, I’m goin’ to turn the stove off and then go get dressed. You hang out in the livin’ room. We’ll streamline the process. Sorry, man.” Louis did as he had dictated and then made his way up to his master bedroom to get ready and inform his wife. But Lyla was already in the shower and clean clothes for the two of them were laid out on the bed. She had evidently heard who it was and kicked it into overdrive. Louis entered the bathroom to brush his teeth, “you know it’s Matty?” he asked, checking.

“Yeah,” she said, turning the water off. “Completely forgot. I’ll wash my hair later.” She joined him at the sink once in her towel and brushed her own teeth.

“I’m goin’ to have a quick shower too. They’re in the livin’ room.” He hopped in the shower while Lyla got dressed, put a quick layer of makeup on and fixed her short, slow-growing curls into something manageable with pins and hairspray.

Quickly, she got Maya’s gift from the back of their closet and made her way to greet her nephew and his family. “I’m so sorry,” she said, rushing to give her family a hug. “Happy birthday, Maya,” she said, squeezing the now-eleven-year-old. “This is from your Grandpa Lou and me.”

“Da’s going to be mocking you endlessly when we get to him. Giving you fair warning.”

Lyla smiled, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Louis was ready in a flash and the five of them were in J’s van, ready to pick up Marshall and then head to lunch to celebrate the current youngest Zevallos-Connelly’s birthday.

 


	50. 2050

_2050_

"Welcome back," the talk show host smiled.

"Thank you very much," Molly replied cordially, returning the smile.

"This is, what," the host said, "your fourth time on the show?"

Molly nodded, "yep, fourth."

"Well, we're glad you keep coming back."

"As long as you keep inviting me, I'll keep coming," Molly said as the audience cheered.

"We're happy to have you. Now, you've been in the music business for a while—"

"Yeah, I started getting noticed about twelve years ago but have been around music and the music business for a bit longer—"

"Yeah, your parents are quite musical, right?"

Molly nodded, "yeah. My whole family actually. My uncle's company has been managing me from the start – first my uncle and then my cousin, Luke. Uh, my dad was singer-songwriter for his own band, The Connelly Brothers, for a—" An audience member whooped. "—Yes! Thank you! They were really popular especially around New York for awhile. My mom was on the other side of the spectrum – she went to Juilliard for classical music and was part of the New York Philharmonic for a number of years. Taught at Juilliard too. My oldest brother is really big among composers and the like. We all get together now and again and just play music – it's just such a huge part of our lives. And now we have nieces and nephews and everyone else getting involved so it's a really, really important to us."

"Very musical," the host said.

Molly chuckled, "yes, very musical."

"So, you wrote a book recently…"

"I did," Molly nodded, "a memoir of sorts – though that sounds a little too snobby—"

"Do you think?"

"Yeah," she crinkled her nose, "don't you? I mean, I guess it is a memoir or an autobiography, but it's more than just me; it's my family. I think it's more about them than it is about me actually."

"What made you want to write about your family?"

"I don't know. I guess… there's always been so much love and laughter and music that has been so influential on my life. And I love to write (though it's usually songs, not memoirs), so one day I started just as a cathartic kind of stress release and I didn't stop until everything I had was out there. I mean, it took a long time, and I can be a bit of a perfectionist sometimes, but I'm really pleased with the result and I really hope everyone else enjoys it too."

"Have your parents read it? The rest of your family?"

"Yeah, they actually helped me with some fact-checking and details that I wasn't too sure about – how they met and their perspectives on what was going on during different times in our lives. They're here today too." She pointed to an elderly couple in the front row, "right over there." She waved at them and they laughed, waving back, the camera focused on them for a moment while the audience applauded.

"Thanks for this one," the host said to Molly's parents.

Her father shook his head, "we didn't have anythin' to do with it. She never listened to a word we said."

The audience laughed and cheered while Molly shook her head, smiling.

"So, what's next for you? You've got the book, which is selling—"

"Yeah, selling surprisingly well."

"And you had a baby a couple of years ago now. How old is she?"

"She's almost two and a half and she's doing really good."

"Any plans for more?"

"Oh, Christ, I don't know. I haven't slept in nearly two and a half years. I'm excited for the opportunity for shuteye. But who knows?"

"And you're back in the studio?"

"Yes! I started recording actually almost two weeks ago to the day, so hopefully I'll have something for you all in the near future."

The audience cheered excitedly.

"We look forward to it. I want to thank you again for coming on the show. Look out for Elza's memoir, Connelly, in bookstores now. We'll be right back!"

As the recording lights went off and the taping for Molly's segment was done, she bid farewell to the host and the audience before disappearing backstage to wait for her parents who insisted on seeing the rest of the show, which wouldn't be much longer.

She sat in her dressing room, lounging on the sofa, watching the show on a TV screen until the taping was finished whereupon her parents were led to her dressing room.

"You were wonderful," her mother said, cupping her face. "Simply amazing."

Molly laughed, "I barely did anything."

"And you did it so well," her father said in a voice that mimicked his wife's, receiving a playful slap and a "shush."

When they were able, the three of them left the studio lot and made their way back to Molly's childhood home, which she rarely got the opportunity to visit any longer. One thing she didn't want was her parents being bombarded by fans or crazies because they found out where she used to live.

She loved her parents' house. Years of living had worn down parts in the hardwood and edges of walls, but they added character – the dent in the living room wall reminded her of when she and Ben threw a party the first weekend they were left alone while the scratch on the wall by the basement helped her relive the hysterics and frustration from moving her furniture into her new basement bedroom. None of the blemishes had been fixed because there was no need; they weren't all that noticeable and the people who came to their home were friends and family, so didn't care.

One thing Molly had insisted on was hiring her parents a monthly cleaner. They weren't messy, living just the two of them, but the house was very big for an elderly couple and neither parent's eyesight was what it used to be, so the previous attention to dusting and vacuuming and detailed cleaning had gone out the window because they couldn't actually see the mess. Both of them had fought her on it, but her father relented first and convinced her mother who followed suit soon after. Molly made sure to hire the cleaner once a month only, leaving daily upkeep for her parents to do so that they didn't feel useless.

Her father got to work in the kitchen, putting together a fancy meal of grilled steak and vegetables with stuffed mushrooms. He might have moved a bit slower and needed glasses a lot more than he used to, but he knew his way around the kitchen and a meal solely through muscle memory and never needed or wanted help.

Molly and her mother sat in the dining room playing cards and catching up. She made sure to keep in contact with her parents pretty regularly, but their conversations were usually limited and quick, Molly either needing to care for her daughter, Charlotte, or do something work-related.

It was nice just the three of them having an evening together, but Molly was soon forced to leave and get back to her life that was beyond what her parents had ever dreamed for her.

* * *

 

Lyla kneeled in her garden, a hobby she had taken up in recent years following retirement, and worked at clearing the flowers of pesky weeds trying to sully the beauty she had carefully curated. The backyard was in mild darkness now, the sun low enough to cast shadows from the houses but high enough to signify that summer was well underway. She could smell the stew her husband was expertly cooking in the kitchen, the windows throughout their home wide open, welcoming the fresh summer air.

She had never cared too much for her yard in years prior other than Louis ensuring the grass was cut (usually as a part of their kids' chores), but with so much downtime during retirement, she found herself wanting to spend her energy on her house. She created flower beds and hung bird feeders and set out a lovely bird bath; there were conversations about installing a fountain as well just because she liked the atmosphere that was created, and she liked the birds and bunnies and occasional stray hanging out in her sculpted paradise.

"Dinner's ready," her husband called from the patio, setting down a bowl and brown bread on the circular table for each of them along with a glass of water each.

Lyla stood and rinsed her hands with the hose, waving them in front of her to dry them off a little, before taking her seat across from her husband.

"It's lookin' good," he complimented, blowing on a spoonful of beef stew.

Lyla looked back at her work and nodded, "yeah. I think I want to get some shrubs that flower. Like that one we walked by this morning."

"I think they were those lilacs. Smell really sweet."

"Yes! Wouldn't those be nice over by the bird bath?"

"We can go see what they have at Home Depot later."

"Sure." Lyla dipped her bread into the stew, letting it soak for a moment before bringing it to her mouth. "Did you manage to get a hold of Nick? Are he and Emily going to come by Saturday?"

"Right," Louis nodded, mouth full. "Yeah, I got Emily. They'll be a bit later, but they'll come. So that's just Brian flakin'."

"Oh, please, 'flaking'? He's on the other side of country—"

Louis grinned, "yeah and he can't even be bothered to get on a plane and—"

Lyla rolled her eyes, "you're hopeless."

"And you still love me."

"Against my better judgement."

Louis leaned in and kissed his wife before they worked at finishing their dinner.

Afterwards, Lyla cleaned the dishes per usual while Louis put away leftovers for the next couple of days. They then put on their runners to go walking around the neighbourhood as they usually did in the summer evenings when they had no other obligations.

It was funny that they had lived in the area for decades but hadn't started to get to know the people beyond those living next to them until recent years. Of course, those they were meeting were mostly in the same age group as they were but had also lived within the neighbourhood for just as long.

They would often walk the same path, occasionally changing it up; however, the walk was for the exercise and just to get them out and about, so the route didn't matter much.

When they returned home, they noticed that their phones had several missed calls from their nephews. Mateo regularly called them, and Tomas called them occasionally, but it was like pulling teeth trying to get Luke to call them. Yet, all three of them had tried reaching Louis and Lyla, which could only mean it was something to do with their father.

Louis' brother had been in and out of the hospital several times over the years, his heart getting weaker with no sign of improvement and very little that could be done. He always made a recovery, but they all knew – Marshall included – that soon he would stop bouncing back. Even so, Louis felt his stomach drop as he picked up the phone to check one of the several messages left for him.

"Uncle Lou," Mateo's voice sounded from the recording, "call me back when you get this. Da's in the hospital again. It doesn't look good."

Without a moment's hesitation, he and Lyla were in the car, dialling as they went.

"Uncle Lou," Mateo answered, his voice sounding weary.

"Is he at Brooklyn?"

"Yeah, I—They can't do anything." He sounded defeated.

"We're on our way," Lyla said. "We'll be there soon. What happened?"

"He had another stroke and he's really confused – he's in and out. They think that he might… be gone soon."

"Okay, love, we're going to be there soon. Luke and Tom are there? Did you call anyone else?"

"Yeah. Couldn't get Molly and Brian obviously can't get here. Everyone's coming and saying…. Everyone's here."

"Okay," Lyla said, glancing at her husband who was focused intently on the road. "We'll be there soon. I'll try Molly." She said her goodbyes and hung up. "Are you okay, love?"

Louis nodded, not trusting his voice. This was what happened when you got to their age – all your friends start dying. It was part of the deal of life and no one gets out alive, but Marshall had been deteriorating and it was hard to see. He always had good humour and was stubborn about making a fuss, but the heart attacks and strokes kept coming; his lucidity had been waning and his body was failing him. He didn't know how things would be without his brother who had looked out for him his whole life, even as adults. Even as old men.

Lyla managed to get through to Molly's nanny after trying multiple other people that worked for or around Molly. She was intent on finishing her new album and tended to disconnect from the world when she did so, making her hard to track down. But the nanny managed to get her on the phone.

"Mom, I can't—"

"Sweetheart, Uncle Marshall is in the hospital. Matty doesn't think he'll last much longer."

"Oh," Molly said, at a loss for words. "Okay. Brooklyn?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'm going to try and get there. I'll turn my phone on. Keep my updated in case I can't get there until late. I don't want—"

"I know, love. Do what you can. I love you."

Soon, Louis and Lyla arrived at the hospital, parked their car, paid, and went inside to find where Marshall was and what state he was in. Luckily, Mateo met them in reception and led them to his father who had monitors connected with wires and tubes providing medication and hydration all over.

Lyla remembered how he used to look: lively and robust, a mischievous glint to his eye almost constantly, a determination to annoy the living Hell out of her. Now, he was sickly, weak, and tired. After his first heart attack, he had made some lifestyle changes, determined to kick illness' ass, and those changes probably kept him around for the twelve years that it had, but it was his time now and nothing he did would change that. He had grown fitter and healthier, losing unnecessary weight and gaining muscle, but now he was just thin and not healthily so. The past three years or so had seen his body giving up with a couple more heart attacks and, more recently, a stroke that had affected his mind a great deal. If he had had another stroke, Lyla knew that it would certainly be one of the last times, if not the last time, that she saw her brother-in-law. And even though she always shared a love-hate relationship with the man, she couldn't imagine how life would be without him just a phone call away. Even more, she knew how it would affect Louis.

Others had come and said their goodbyes, promising to return the next day, though it was an open-ended promise with all those involved unsure if Marshall would stay with them another day. Even the doctors weren't sure when it would happen, just that it would.

In the room with their father, Lucas, Tomas, and Mateo sat talking softly, Mateo looking overwhelmed with everything. Lyla drew each nephew into a hug but held onto Matty a little longer. Even at forty-one, she still thought he felt a bit like a child in the moment, needing comfort and love.

"Matty," Marshall said hoarsely, startling everyone.

"Yeah, da," Mateo responded, seeming almost weary with needing to respond. Lyla suspected this wasn't first time Marshall called his eldest son.

"Where's your mam?"

Mateo sighed, "she'll be here soon. Listen, Uncle Lou is here."

Marshall's eyes found his brother and he smiled, "Louie, you're fuckin' old." He laughed roughly.

Louis sat on a vacant chair at his brother's bedside, faking his best grin, "you haven't seen yourself in a mirror lately."

"I'm old too?"

Louis nodded, "over the hill."

"Shit," he laughed again but then stopped abruptly, a look of realization flickering in his eyes like someone just turned on a light. "Matty."

"Yeah," his son repeated.

"Did I tell you about my will and shit? And—"

"Yeah, da, don't worry. I got it," Matty replied, a little relieved to have a moment of coherency in his dad.

Marshall looked up at the ceiling, his head propped on his pillows, "you're a good one, Matty." His expression changed again, and he looked back at Louis, "Lou, you're goin' to take care of Matty and the twins when I'm gone right? They're not old enough to be on their own. Their mam's gone. You need to make sure they're fed and—"

"Marshall," Louis interrupted, "don't worry. They'll be fine. We'll all be fine."

"And stop chasin' that princess, yeah? Nothin' but—" he noticed Lyla standing in the room. "Ah, Christ, Louie, she's here."

Those in the room couldn't help but laugh, Lyla included, the tension easing up for a fleeting moment.

"You better not fuckin' leave him again," he warned, pointing his finger harshly in Lyla's direction.

"I won't," she said, shaking her head through tears.

"We've been together almost forty-two years," Louis informed his brother.

Marshall's eyebrows shot up, "shit, really? Christ."

"Listen, Marshall," Louis said, almost whispering, hyper-aware of the others in the room. "You're a good man, you know that?"

Marshall rolled his eyes, his knee-jerk reaction to affection, "get off."

"I mean it. None of us would be here today if it weren't for you. Especially me. You're a good brother."

Marshall nodded with his eyes closed, suddenly exhausted.

While he slept, Lyla and Louis talked to their nephews while others came and went. Molly was able to come for a short time to say goodbye, but he wasn't conscious, and she couldn't stay. Eventually it was only Marshall's sons along with Lyla and Louis.

"You guys should go home," Mateo suggested. "I'll stay with da and keep you updated."

"Mateo," Lyla argued, "you're taking on too much—"

"You know I would be here even if I left," he interrupted. "You guys go. I'll call you if anything happens."

Louis knew it was time to go, that his brother probably wouldn't speak again, so they did with one final goodbye – a squeeze of the hand, a kiss on the forehead, a hug, whatever each person needed.

Louis and Lyla were quiet when they got home. It was late so they went upstairs immediately for bed. Louis didn't have any plans for sleep. He knew that Mateo would be calling soon and his memories with his brother were on a constant loop, keeping him from sleep. He suspected that Lyla was awake next to him, but he didn't want to talk so left it alone.

It was shortly after two when Mateo finally called. Louis thought he sounded almost relieved. He had seen Marshall for several hours that night but Mateo had been taking care of his dad for several years, ensuring that he did what the doctors told him, checking in almost daily, and bringing him to the hospital regularly, especially in that last couple of years; he had watched his father's mental and physical health slowly deteriorate, so now that he was out of pain, it must have been an immense weight off of Matty's shoulders.

"That was Matty," Louis said to his wife, knowing that she was listening in the dark. "Marshall had another heart attack and that was it."

"Is Mateo okay?"

"He doesn't have to worry so much anymore. I told him I'd pass it on. Going to make some calls and let everyone know."

"Do you want help?"

Louis waved her off even though she couldn't see him, "I'm alright. I want to." He spent the next hour calling his children and family along with his former bandmates and close friends, informing them all that Marshall had passed. It was strangely cathartic, maybe just for the sole reason that he had something to do, or maybe so he could feel like he was doing something for his brother.

It wasn't until four that he finally brought himself back to bed where Lyla was waiting. She shifted close to him once he was settled and wrapped her arms around his; the two of them were then finally able to drift off to sleep.

* * *

 

Lyla woke up to the smell of bacon drifting up the stairs. Louis had been getting up before her for most of their marriage and that didn't stop in old age; while he might not run as long as he used to, his knees being what they were, he still liked to get outside at the first signs of dawn and get a little bit of cardio in after which he would have breakfast with his wife. Usually, they would have something simple like yogurt or cereal, but it was their forty-second anniversary so Louis decided a day straying from their healthy routine would be warranted.

Stretched and carefully easing up out of bed, Lyla pulled on her robe, stopping off at the bathroom, and went to join her husband downstairs. The smell of bacon was stronger, as was the familiar smell of pancakes and oranges. Louis had definitely gone the extra mile to ensure their anniversary breakfast was a tasty one.

"Morning," Lyla chirped, sneaking her arms around her husband's waist and leaning her head on his back.

"Happy anniversary, mo chroí."

"Happy anniversary," she stood on her tip toes and kissed the nape of his neck. "You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble."

Louis chuckled, "you know it's no trouble. Go sit down and I'll bring us our breakfast in a minute."

Lyla took some cutlery and other necessities to the table and sat in her usual chair, Louis following a moment later with a plate each filled with two blueberry pancakes, eggs, and bacon along with a glass of orange juice. "Thank you," Lyla said with a kiss.

"Any time."

They began eating in silence, savouring the delicious mix of sweet and salty.

"Forty-two," Louis said after a gulp of his juice.

"You're not going to make me think of forty-two things, are you?" Lyla smiled.

"Can hardly remember my name," Louis smirked. "Wouldn't do that to you."

She laughed, "I appreciate it. And it's forty-two years of marriage, but more than fifty-five years."

"Most of our lives. And you're not sick of me yet?"

"There's still time."

"Guess I better keep feedin' you then. More bacon?"

"Absolutely."

They finished up eating, cleaning up the mess together before getting ready for the day and taking to their individual hobbies. Lyla tended to the garden before the sun became too harsh and then got into her yoga, which she continued to practice religiously; if she was going to get old, she was going to make sure she could still move. Louis started writing short stories a few years after he retired and continued to do so, transferring his skill and knowledge for song-writing over into a new form; he had already completed his morning run prior to breakfast (never one to run after a meal) and was busy editing one of his stories so he could submit it to an online anthology.

In the late morning when the both of them began to feel hungry, they got in the car and headed into Manhattan where they would continue their anniversary celebrations. Their celebrations were usually just between the two of them, big parties being reserved for the big numbers, the next that they hoped to see being fifty years. They preferred having just the two of them on this day anyway.

Parking their car in a nearby garage that they frequented (often spending their time in Central Park now that they were retired), they made their way down the familiar streets and into the familiar park, opting for a lunch of vendor hotdogs instead of anything more fanciful. The park was crowded as it usually was during the summer, everyone eager to experience the sunshine while it lasted. While they ate their hotdogs on a fountain's edge, they watched the people going by and chatted easily with one another, Lyla developing her plans for her garden and Louis discussing his ideas for more stories that he could write.

"I want to see the gardens," Lyla said after they had been finished eating for some time. 'The gardens', of course, was where they got married forty-two years ago. She could still remember the magic of the day – how it felt like walking in a fairytale. When they had renewed their vows two years prior, they had done so in the gardens once more. While the renewal was lovely and she was glad that they had completed them where they were married, the magic from their wedding day was unique and impossible to mimic. Even so, each time they took a walk around the Shakespeare Gardens, she was transported to that day and she could feel it all over again.

They walked over the small bridge and up the stone path – the same route Lyla had taken all those years ago towards her now-husband on the other end – and found themselves surrounded by pinks and purples and blues again, the fragrance bringing smiles to both of their faces. They had entered another world separate from everyone else and made their way to where they had signed their marriage contracts under the responsible eyes of their witnesses: Lyla's faraway friend, Lizzy, and Louis' late brother, Marshall. There, a stone ledge offered them a place to sit, which they did in silence.

It was shaded and dark in the little corner of the garden, but looking out, one could see the brilliant greens made neon by the sun along with small drops of blue where the trees opened up to the sky.

Louis wrapped his one arm around his wife, and she scooted closer to him, resting her head in the crook of his arm. He started to hum and then eventually sing one of the many songs he had written for her, closing his own eyes.

Lyla still loved to hear him sing, especially with her ear to his chest, hearing his heartbeat and the deep vibrations caused by his voice.

When he finished his song, they sat still for a little while longer, beginning to speak once more, commenting on the flowers or the little bumblebees hovering around or how nice it was to be in the shade and out of the sun. And then they continued on their way.

Walking along the paths, they encountered several different musicians busking. As they always did, they would stop to listen and give them a few dollars before continuing hand-in-hand. When they started to become tired, they found the nearest ice cream vendor and sat to rest before they'd head home. It was such a peaceful, easy day as most of their anniversaries were, and they both felt fortunate enough to have married the perfect person for them.

When they got home, they were completely exhausted and went directly to the couch with the TV on. Louis excused himself and returned a moment later with a small rectangular package wrapped in a way that suggested it was done by Louis entirely; he had never quite mastered the art of gift wrapping, no matter how much practice he had. He sat down next to Lyla and passed it over to her, "happy anniversary, a chuisle mo chroí."

Lyla kissed him but didn't immediately begin opening her gift. Instead, she said, "hold on a minute." She left the living room to go upstairs, returning a moment later with a similarly shaped (though larger) gift that was wrapped a million times better. "Don't think you're the only one," she smiled.

"Thank you, love," he said, taking the gift and kissing her again. "You first."

Lyla carefully opened the gift Louis had given her to reveal a small book aptly titled, 'A Chuisle Mo Chroi' written by Louis himself. She opened up to the first page with a personalised dedication that read:

_To Lyla –_

_You are the light of my life;_

_You keep me going._

_I'm glad that I'll never know what my life would have been like if I never found you._

_I've said it a million times and I'll say it a million times more:_

_I love everything that you are and I'm so thankful to call you my wife._

_Happy Anniversary._

_\- L_

Lyla smiled wide, "what is this?"

"Look through it, why don't you? It's everythin' I've ever written for you or to you – at least everythin' I could find or remember writin'. What do you think?"

"It's beautiful," Lyla said, knowing that if she read any part of it now, she would start crying and she said as much. "Thank you, love." She waved him on with her hand, not wanting to focus on his gift anymore. She could cry later. "You open yours now."

Louis chuckled and did as commanded, tearing the paper off in a far less ceremonious way than his wife. Beneath the paper was a framed image or, rather, collection of images.

"I know it's a little sappy, but I thought it would be a nice memento," Lyla explained before he had much of a chance to look at it.

The images were of Louis and Marshall growing up from kids to old men. "Where the hell'd you find the ones of us so young?"

"I asked John and August to check the schools you went to – see if there were any old pictures and there were. I tried to get the hospital to cough up some baby pictures of you, but they said they didn't have anything." Lyla didn't quite believe them. "I just—I know that losing Marshall has been hard; I miss him, but I know that it's nowhere comparable to you. I wanted you to have something to look back on or hang up or something just to see him whenever you want."

Louis nodded, feeling like he might cry too, but instead kissed his wife again. It had been just over a month and a half since Marshall had gone; the funeral was one he would have been proud of. But he was still getting used to wanting to talk to his brother about something only to remember he was dead. Lyla had been all the support that he needed. "Thank you," he nodded again. "I love you."

"I love you."

Later that night, they both got ready for bed, these days going to sleep and rising much earlier than they ever used to. As they normally did, they each read for a bit, Lyla opting for her anniversary gift and crying into it as Louis chuckled at the way she was torturing herself. When they were sufficiently tired, they turned off their bedside lamps and snuggled under the covers to fall asleep next to each other as they always did and would always do until the end.

* * *

 

**Author's Note: And that's it, you guys. It's wild to know that I actually finished a story I started and have written over 200,000 words in the process. Is it all gold? No. It's hardly bronze. But I finished and that gives me some sense of pride. I started the story on another site in 2015 and left it alone for awhile before returning in about June 2018. So, from then, I wrote chapter 7 to 50. That seems insane to me.**

**If you've read the whole story, thank you. I know some chapters were better than others and some were a downright travesty, but I hope you enjoyed my take on it anyway. Thank you to anyone who has given me kudos. A special thanks to those who have also reviewed.**

**I know I sometimes got caught up with characters other than Louis and Lyla, so thanks for being patient if you didn't like those chapters. I really enjoyed writing this, occasionally researching ridiculous things like what day of the week will July 5th, 2050 be (it's a Tuesday) or complications that can arise from pregnancy or whether or not there was a full moon on July 5th, 2008 (there was no moon).**

**Lastly, just for the hell of it, I will share my companion document below: everyone's birthdays and their reasonings (if applicable). Also, for the article chapters and Maya's obituary, there are associated images. Links are on the article pages chapters. Maya's obituary image was an older image of Barbara Mori, who isn't exactly what I imagined Maya to be like but is close enough.**

* * *

 

 

**Character Birthdays (note that years are based on what age I wanted them in 2010 while days may be inspired by something else):**

**Louis Michael Connelly: July 27th, 1973 (same birthday as Jonathan Rhys Meyers)**

**Lyla Ann Connelly: March 23rd, 1976 (same birthday as Keri Russell)**

**Marshall John Connelly: August 24, 1970 (same birthday as Alex O'Loughlin)**

**Maya Valencia Zevallos: February 17, 1981 (I really liked Maya so she shares a birthday with my grandpa and my uncle)**

**August Evan Connelly: December 17, 1995 (from the film)**

**Mateo Patrick Zevallos-Connelly: March 6, 2009 (random allocation based on due date calculator)**

**Benjamin Michael Connelly: May 31, 2009 (random based on due date calculator)**

**John Connelly II: September 17, 1987 (I remember thinking this through but I don't know how I came to this date)**

**Molly Elizbieta (Elza) Connelly: December 27, 2011 (random based on due date calculator)**

**Lucas Eduardo and Tomas Louis Zevallos Connelly: January 20, 2013 (based on due date calculator, some twin research and some magic)**

**Colm Thomas Connelly (child of August and Evie): September 30, 2029 (a combination of Colm Meaney's birthday - May 30 - and his Star Trek character's - September)**

**Maya Lyla Zevallos-Connelly (child of Mateo and Jaskiran): October 10, 2027 (birthday of singer, Mya; side note: Mateo has a whole story -- despite using protection, J got pregnant when they were both 17 and they got married when they were 18 -- Marshall made sure that they both went on with their lives as if nothing had changed even with a baby and the fact that J was kicked out of her house and moved in with the four boys. Eventually, Mateo and J went to live with Louis and Lyla for the sanity of Matty and J, but also Marshall, Luke and Tom. Jaskiran was on the track team and struggled a bit, but eventually got into coaching. Mateo became a child psychologist. Jfc I put too much thought into this. They divorced a little while after their second kid who shall remain nameless and birthdayless for now.)**

**Charlotte (Charlie) Ann Tavoularis (child of Molly and her man, Mr Tavoularis): January 23, 2047 (character Charlotte York's birthday - from Sex and the City)**

**And that's it. I have some weird background details in the same vein as Mateo's above, but... if you really want to know something, just ask.**

**Alright... one final thank you! Bye!**

 


End file.
